


An Alignment to Cry

by Demenior, kickingshoes



Series: Sigh No More [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ableist Language, Alien Abduction, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, M/M, Not What It Looks Like, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Slow Burn, The Shape of Water AU, Whisperbang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/pseuds/Demenior, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickingshoes/pseuds/kickingshoes
Summary: In the wake of tragedy, Shiro struggles to rebuild his life, and tries to find a role in the place he once called home. Isolated, depressed, and nothing like the man he once was, Shiro stumbles across someone just as alone as he is.His blossoming connection to the alien named Ulaz leads Shiro to question the core of who he serves, what he believes in and just what kind of man was he made to be?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the love to Kickingshoes for the amazing art they've done, and all their support! Their art is for a scene that shows up in a few chapters, but you can get an early sneak peek if you [click here!](http://kickingshoes.tumblr.com/post/172766193872/art-for-demenior-s-voltron-whisperbang-an) (And reblog to support them!)
> 
> To the Whisperbang Group, who have been so supportive and are so talented that they drive me to be better every day.
> 
> This story is loosely inspired by/based on 'The Shape of Water' by Guillermo del Toro. It deviates quite a bit from the movie, but the heart is all there. 
> 
> Written for the Whisper Bang, a small mini-bang made up of a bunch of dweebs in the same server who decided 'let's form ~~Voltron~~ make a Bang'.

HOUSTON, WE’VE MADE HISTORY

The long-awaited deep space exploration mission has finally returned.

  _If the moon was a large step for mankind, the Galaxy Garrison_ _’s mission to Kerberos is a flying leap into the future. A three-man team left our planet a year ago today. Their destination: one of Pluto’s moons, on the furthest edge of our solar system. No human has ever traveled so far!_

_The team was sent to conduct a variety of surveys. Amongst radiation recordings, they will be coming home with samples of ice from the moons surface. The hope is that the ice may contain clues about life in the universe that we may not be able to find closer to home._

_Due to technological failure, the astronauts were unable to reestablish contact with earth until a few weeks before their return. This has resulted in very little being known about what they_ _’ve seen, and better yet, what they brought home._

_Huge crowds gathered to watch the launch. None more excited than the Garrison itself._

_Commander Iverson, director of both Kerberos Missions, had this to say:_

_“We at the Garrison always strive to make the impossible, possible. Commander Zarkon and his crew: Lt. Sendak and Dr. Haxus, are some of the best examples of that ethic. The fact that this mission was such a success— that these men flew so far from home, and have returned safe, is testament to that fact. We couldn’t have done it without the support of everyone involved.”_

_We were able to speak with Commander Holt about the mission as well:_

_“I’m proud to be a part of this in any way I can. I have nothing but pride for the Garrison, and what we’ve accomplished.”_

_You may remember Commander Holt as the leader of the first planned mission to Kerberos, which suffered a tragic delay a month before launch when then-pilot Takashi Shirogane crashed a hoverbike that he and and Matthew Holt were riding together. Commander Holt stepped down from the mission to be with his son and family during Matthew_ _’s long road to recovery._

 _With the return of the Kerberos Mission, the world now holds it_ _’s breath. What truths have they brought back? What new knowledge will they share with the rest of us? The Galaxy Garrison has always claimed to be visionaries for the future, and now they’ve proven that the sky is no longer the limit: it’s the destination._

 

* * *

 

Shiro wakes up every evening to his alarm. With how poor his sleep cycle had gotten, adjusting to night shifts hadn’t been so hard.

He gets up and stretches in the shower. It’s more efficient and helps loosen his muscles faster. He’s quick at getting his right arm attached, and then he makes breakfast—enough for two—and sets one plate on his windowsill and puts another in his bag.

It’s a quiet life. It’s good for him. The silence stretches on, making him aware of his isolation. His therapist suggested that he listen to music as he got ready, or even the news, but that means something else he’ll need to care for or turn off before he leaves. It would disrupt his routine.

Shiro checks his appearance one last time. Hair combed back, standard undercut. He just cleaned it up yesterday, so it’s perfect.

His Commander uniform is heavy on his shoulders. Shiro’s lost muscle since he was originally fitted for it, and wearing it now feels like a child playing dress up in his parents clothes. It feels wrong to be wearing it at all. Shiro was never demoted, but he was promoted to Commander specifically for the Kerberos Mission.

The mission he never went on.

Shiro tries to ignore the way his right arm stays stiff, the hand so worn in places that the pale flesh color is wearing off to reveal the metal underneath. It’s a top of the line prosthetic. Shiro can grip things, and even move the fingers individually if he focuses. But it’s never going to function like his old hand.

The rest of him is harder to look at. He’s tried makeup a few times to cover the worst of his scars, but he’s always aware of how it dries and flakes and he knows that everyone can tell that he’s trying to hide. And that’s worse. So now he sticks to long sleeves, high collars, and low lights to get by.

Shiro makes sure the latch on the window is unlocked, so Keith can get his meal if he drops by, and then heads for his first day back to work.

Commuting gives him time to mentally prepare himself. It’s evening, the sun is setting and the soft glow illuminates everything. Shiro doesn’t drive anymore. He probably could get his license back if he really tried, but he doesn’t go anywhere to justify the need for a car.

He used to be the Garrison’s Golden Boy, so when he was weaned off his painkillers enough to be coherent, his superiors came in to get ahead of the press and made sure to promise him that he’d always have a place with them. And for him to pass that along to the press. Which he did, gladly.

Shiro wasn’t fit to do recruitment anymore— no one wants an amputee covered in scars telling them about the glory of space travel. All they’ll think about is crashing. But he needed work.  The Garrison had to make it clear that they weren’t dropping Shiro now that he was useless, _of course not_. There would be public outcry! And the Garrison doesn’t do bad press. They take care of their own.

Shiro still hasn’t decided if it’s a kindness or an insult that he’s still with them. But he knows he’d rather be dead than leave.

He likes the idea of the nightshift though. Before the accident, in preparation for the launch, he’d spent a few late, late nights on base. People kept to themselves. They talk quiet, they don’t loiter. The energy isn’t the daytime hustle that he remembers from before. That’s exactly what he needs.

He’d been given choice of what position he wanted to start in. Another act of kindness.

Shiro doesn’t have a head for numbers anymore. Yeah, he’s smart. He can make calculations, but the brain trauma sometimes makes him freeze up, like his brain is a record skipping out of pattern. Spending hours on fine details just gives him a migraine, and so he decided against that. He couldn’t handle the focus of management anymore. He can’t be responsible for other people.

As night crew he had few other options. He could have worked in the cafeteria, but there were too many people. He’d have to see everyone. Shiro just wants to keep his head down, work until he’s done, and avoid all the stares and whispers of ‘oh my god it’s him’.

So he requested to be a janitor. No one looks at cleaning staff. The other workers love their gossip, and Shiro thinks it’ll be easy for them to learn to leave him alone when he doesn’t talk back. And it was honest work, hard work that will hopefully leave him cramped and tired and able to sleep.

He’s been having nightmares since the Kerberos crew reestablished contact with the Garrison, all the way up to the landing. Commander Holt left a voicemail asking if Shiro wanted to attend with him and his family. Shiro didn’t sleep for three days after that, until Keith forced him to take his medication, lay in bed, and then sat on him until Shiro passed out. He slept through the landing.

He feels shitty about it, and guilty like he’s done something wrong. But having to face the Holts, to see how he destroyed their family, would have been worse.

 

* * *

 

The Garrison is a huge complex, spanning several blocks across and many stories high. It might even be deeper than it is tall.

The Kerberos Team just returned from their mission two days ago. Debriefings are still happening, so there’s no official report of what they’ve found, but it’s so hush-hush that everyones’ minds are leaping to conclusions. Papparazzi surround the gate, still. All struggling to get a picture of _anything_ important. Shiro pulls his jacket collar high around his face.

Shiro can remember all the instructions they were given, about how when they’d return from Kerberos it would be a few days of compiling stories and reports before releasing them to the press. The Garrison makes sure it always presents its best self to the public. It’s why Shiro still has a job, even though he fucked up the Garrison’s plans so badly that they should have tossed him out and forgotten him.

Shiro steps off the bus at his stop, just outside the gates, and pulls out his lanyard with his old ID tag on it to hand to the guards. He’s immediately swarmed by the press— lights start flashing so fast that Shiro’s completely blind, and marches forwards only because he thinks it’s the right way to go.

The guards at the gate recognize him before he even arrives, and rush out to help him inside. He’s waved in without scanning his key.

Shiro really shouldn’t dally— he knows there’s still rapid-fire photos being taken of him— but that noise and lights were so overwhelming that he feels like he could have an anxiety attack right now. Shiro looks up at the night sky. The stars were always grounding for him— the focus of his dreams and ambition. Now he’s reminded of how far away they are, and how he’ll never get there. It grounds him in a completely different way.

Shiro makes it inside without any more trouble.

 

* * *

 

It’s been nearly two years since Shiro set foot inside the Garrison. Nothing has changed.

That’s almost relieving, except for how much Shiro has changed. Now he feels like an outsider, even when sitting in Commander Iverson’s office.

Commander Iverson was never what Shiro would have considered a friend, but he once told Shiro he was a good pilot, so that’s nearly the same thing. Or, used to be.

Iverson is not a kind person. Shiro always respected his laser focus, and dedication to a goal, but he didn’t mince his words and didn’t mind to be cruel to be efficient.

Shiro hasn’t done anything to impress anyone, nor has he done anything to upset anyone. He keeps his head down and does his job. He avoids the press whenever they want a follow-up on his accident, and he’s never once slandered the Garrison for anything. They paid his medical bills. He owes them everything.

Iverson gives nothing away, sitting at his desk. Shiro takes a seat across from him.

Iverson talks calmly, which immediately makes Shiro’s spine go tight, “Been a long time, Shirogane.”

“Yes sir,” Shiro replies automatically. There’s a long pause, before Iverson speaks again. Shiro wonders if he was supposed to say more. 

“Did you make it to the landing?” Iverson asks. It’s practically small-talk.

Now Shiro feels worse about not going, “No, sir.”

Iverson makes a curious sound. He’s making up his mind about something. Shiro feels like it’s an assessment of his character. And he’s coming up short.

“I’m told you requested to be a janitor,” Iverson finally says.

“Yes sir,” Shiro agrees.

Iverson sighs, and sits back to look at him. Shiro shrinks under the attention.

“Two years ago you fucked up your life,” Iverson says bluntly. Shiro doesn’t respond, “and I thought that was rock bottom for you. And now, you get to come home, and you want to be a _janitor?_ ”

“I— I,” Shiro stammers, wondering if he can make any sense to someone like Iverson, “I just want to work,” he says.

“You’re not a janitor,” Iverson says, “the public is going to be fucking _rioting_ thinking about your poor ass cleaning toilets. Can you imagine the media shitstorm?”

“But it was approved!” Shiro pleads.

“By an idiot. You’re working security now,” Iverson says, and picks up a file on his desk to drop it in front of Shiro, “I’ve already reassigned you. Personal assignment. You remember the basement— the dungeon? It’s where the Kerberos samples are being kept. I need someone who won’t ask questions, and who won’t stick their nose where it doesn’t belong. Can you do that for me Shirogane?”

“Security?” Shiro squeaks, “no, no, please. I need the work.”

“Are you questioning me, son?” Iverson snaps, “I gave you an order. Now go report to Rolo. He’s briefed on the situation.”

“Yes sir,” Shiro tucks his chin to his chest. He wants to scream. He doesn’t even know who leaked this! It wasn’t him! And now he’s suffering for it!

There’s a pause between them, dead air. As if Iverson is waiting for Shiro to fight for himself, is practically inviting it. Shiro stares down at his lap.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Iverson sighs, “they said you’d be different but this is…,” he sighs again, and waves Shiro away, “I’m too busy for this. Get out of my sight.”

 

* * *

 

Rolo is one of those men who is mean to those he likes, and kind to those he doesn’t. He’s too difficult to make sense of, so Shiro’s never bothered with him.

Shiro’s given his new tools: a flashlight, a taser and a headset. He wants none of them. They’re light. He’ll probably never use them.

He gets a new uniform. Shiro takes his time to change in the bathroom, and tries to compose himself. It’s unjust, and cruel. Why would the Garrison do this to him? Take away the one thing he wanted? Then he feels guilty about thinking that he could demand anything at all. He’s just lucky that they’re taking him back in the first place.

He manages to get dressed without any hassle, and hangs his uniform in his locker. Now that he has his security uniform, he might never have to wear the Commander uniform again. It doesn’t make him feel better.

Shiro’s taken to keeping candies in his pockets at home because it’s much easier to snack when he’s feeling too tired to get up and make his way to the kitchen. It’s especially good on nights that Shiro can’t sleep, as it helps make the long hours bearable. It was Keith’s idea, actually. He was the first to bring Shiro little treat bags to stash around the house, so that no matter where Shiro lost energy and curled up, he’d at least have something in reach to eat.

His bangs are already slicked back, so it’s easy to fit his hat on top. He looks in the mirror only to make sure he looks orderly, tries to ignore the scar tissue tugging his skin in all sorts of directions. The uniform has short sleeves. He didn’t bring anything long to wear under it, so his prosthesis and his scarred left arm are on display for everyone to gawk at.

Rolo’s brows hit his hairline when he sees Shiro, and a cruel grin slides onto his face.

“Lookin good, cowboy,” he teases.

It means he’s trying to be friendly, but Shiro would rather he didn’t try at all.

Rolo runs him through protocol, shift rotation, and rounds. There’s more guards outdoors than in, which makes sense. Shiro’s effectively a hall monitor, regulated to the lowest part of the Garrison. Nothing ever happens on those levels, save for the occasional yelling match between overworked and exhausted engineers looking for some old data that’s stored down here.

Rolo takes him down the elevator to the lowest levels of the Garrison.

“Really it’s a piece of cake, and if they’d just put cameras in we wouldn’t even need you,” he laughs at his own joke, and slaps a friendly hand on Shiro’s shoulders, “you’re literally at rock bottom here, try not to fuck this one up, okay?”

He’s still laughing when he heads upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Shiro faces the long hall ahead of him. If he starts moving, maybe he can make himself stop being so miserable. He keeps even strides, and walks forwards, chin high. The elevator is at his back, and he can either go forwards or to his right. The entire level is one long loop, interspersed with a few halls branching off. This is a very old part of the Garrison, and the concrete architecture reminds Shiro of decades past.

Top secret research is done down here, or, it used to be. Now that most of the equipment is harder to port around, it’s kept in other areas under further lock and key. Even still, there are several bays on this level that used to be used for experimentation.

He wonders if these halls are brighter during the day, or if this is the same dark lighting that the daytime workers have to suffer under. It’s dark enough to register _night_ to Shiro’s mind, and that offsets him. Shiro rarely sees the sun, unfortunately. And sometimes he misses it.

The dark makes him think of the stars. At home he can gaze up and remember how excited he was to get out into space, the joy of his first space walk and the first time he guided a ship into orbit.

And he can be reminded how it’s all his fault it was stripped away.

Shiro stomps his foot as he stops abruptly, trying to jolt himself out of thinking about the accident. He can’t freak out. Not tonight. If he fucks this up, there won’t be anywhere else for him to go.

It’s not even an hour into his shift and Shiro’s already spiraling.

Shiro digs into his pocket and pops a handful of chocolate into his mouth. Oh! These are the ones with caramel in the middle. That’s good, that makes him happier.

He sucks on the remaining pieces, drawing out the taste, and starts walking again. It’s all storage down here, from what Rolo said, and now the level has very limited access until diagnostics are finished for the Kerberos Mission samples. During the night, Shiro should have nothing to worry about.

A low moan echoes out of Bay B4-17. Shiro stops short, unsure if he heard it or not. He hears and sees a lot of things that he knows aren’t real.

Shiro supposes he should feel some curiosity to see what’s behind the doors, to see if it’s what _he_ should have brought him. But resentment boils in his gut alongside the guilt and he refuses to look.

He doesn’t hear it again. Iverson’s words echo in Shiro’s head: _someone who won_ _’t ask questions, and who won’t stick their nose where it doesn’t belong_. Shiro can be that. He has to make sure he’s worth keeping around.

Shiro shakes off his nerves, and keeps walking.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t _have_ to walk all night. He can take breaks and go sit down near the elevator. The only other way into the level is the cleaning elevators, located down another hall. Most of the indoor night guards spend their time in the control room watching video feeds, setting off at regular intervals to do a quick round. They do a lot of socializing there. A lot of banter and chit-chat. Shiro’s sure they’re all probably quite nice. Rolo took the time to introduce them all.

But wherever Shiro goes, there’s always a hush, a lull in conversation when he comes in. He doesn’t want to sit there and know they’re watching him, thinking about him and all the headlines that won’t stop following him even years after the fact. _Pilot error_ , a death sentence to his career. Everyone looks at him and knows he’s a pity project.

Shiro makes three more rounds of his floor before he hears the sound again. It’s the same bay. He looks around— maybe he’s hearing something else? Pipes creaking, the building settling. There are all sorts of odd noises. The staff like to claim the Garrison is haunted by a mischievous ghost who steals their pens or hides their important papers whenever they’re looking for them.

It sounded human, whatever it was. Lots of scientists and engineers work late, though, anyone still working at this hour is probably distressed enough to be making wailing noises. Shiro steps closer to the bay door, and gives it a hesitant knock.

It’s silent inside. It feels suspiciously silent. Shiro could pretend he didn’t hear anything, but it’s his job to investigate anything weird or unusual.

Shiro still has his old key, which gives him access to all the rooms. He swipes his access card, and the big door rumbles open. It creates such a racket that it sounds deafening to Shiro after the hours of quiet so far.

It’s dark inside the room, and Shiro goes quickly for his flashlight. He’d expected some lights on if someone was working in here. What was making that noise then?

This is… not quite what Shiro was expecting in a storage room. There’s lots of machinery, yes, but also traces of what smell like a hospital to him. Antiseptic, rubbing alcohol and sweat. There’s been a lot of people in here. A lot of people working _hard_ at something.

It crosses Shiro’s mind that he might be walking in on some staff having a fling. Not what he wants to be seeing tonight. He’ll take note of them and send them on their way, if that’s the case.

But more likely someone is in here to find out what they found on Kerberos.

A lot of the machines in the room are ones Shiro recognizes from his stay in the hospital. Heart monitors, blood pressure detectors. IV setups and lines. An examination table, with handcuffs hanging from the sides. Shiro spins slowly as he takes in his surroundings.

This isn’t adding up.

Chains rattle behind him suddenly and Shiro whips around.

There, right in the beam of his flashlight, is the ugliest, most horrifying creature Shiro has ever seen. It’s face is pale white, long and gaunt with bat-like ears and a crest of greasy, dirty white fur. It’s yellow eyes reflect the light right back at him, like a cat.

Shiro screams. Yells. He can’t quite describe the noise.

The creature hisses, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth and blue gums, and it lunges out of the light with another rattle of chains.

Shiro’s halfway to the exit, convinced that he’s about to _die_ , when he realizes he isn’t being chased. He stands in the doorway anyways, one foot in the light, and points his flashlight back in.

He catches the glint of it’s eyes in the dark to find it. The creature is huddled at the back of the room. It’s crouched over, but he can see the collar at its neck, the shackles on its limbs. It’s restrained.

That’s when Shiro’s stomach drops. It’s restrained because it’s supposed to be here. Hidden away from the public, somewhere where no one would think to look. On a floor with no cameras, where no one will know who comes and goes.

The Kerberos crew were sent for ice samples. And they came home with an alien.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will update every 2 days until it's done, so mark your calendars!

_The Kerberos crew were sent for ice samples. And they came home with an alien._

Shiro can’t move. He’s frozen on the spot as awe and shock shoot through him. He wants to laugh— maybe to cry?

Humanity isn’t alone in the universe.

This is a real, live alien in front of him.

He’s one of the first humans to lay eyes on it.

He has to be dreaming, maybe seeing things.

Shiro wants to pinch himself, but that would mean putting down his flashlight and losing sight of the alien. Part of him worries the alien will vanish if Shiro so much as blinks.

The alien lifts a hand to block its eyes from the light. It makes a heavy groaning sound.

“Sorry,” Shiro says, more to himself, and lowers the light. It’s rude to be shining it right in someone’s face if they’re not under suspicion of anything.

Shiro glances back at the lit hall behind him. It will be empty for hours, until 6am when the day crew start to trickle in. Nothing happens down these halls. He can take a few more minutes.

Shiro walks back into the room. The alien is crouched in his light, and Shiro can’t stop taking in the details of it. It’s humanoid— he thinks it has two arms and two legs, one head. A vaguely human face in that it has two eyes, two ears, one nose and one mouth. It’s nose is flat, like it tripped and made a pancake of its face. The crest of fur on its head goes down the back of its neck, and becomes quite short and barely noticeable down its spine. It’s arms and legs are long. Everything about the alien is long— like someone took a human and then stretched out everything about them. It’s bones jut out under its skin at every point. Stretched thin around a frame that’s too big for its body.

It’s purple. A purple alien.

The alien looks up at Shiro, over it’s hunched shoulder, and rumbles a growl as it leans away from him. All the knobs on its spine stick out like a ridge down its back.

“Hi,” Shiro says, awed. He stops a decent way back from the alien. There’s caution tape on the floor, marking some sort of barrier. Shiro doesn’t want to find out what happens if he crosses it, “you scared me.”

It occurs to Shiro, as he finishes talking, that this alien probably isn’t capable of speech. He recalls the sharp teeth, the yellow animal eyes and strange face. It’s probably just an animal— sentient, yes, but maybe no more than a horse or gorilla at best.

Shiro’s eyes are adjusting to the dark, so he’s able to take in a few more details. The alien has markings all over it— light spots, all down it’s shoulders and back, like it’s face and it’s mane of fur. In fact, he thinks it’s covered in short fur all over.

A real, live alien. Something not from earth. Shiro can’t stop smiling. This is the most excited he’s been in… well, in years.

 _This could have been your discovery_ , his thoughts remind him. It could have been him making first contact. Bringing the first alien back to earth.

The alien is studying him curiously. It’s ears twitch and move. They stare at each other for a moment, locking eyes. Shiro wonders if there’s any intelligent thought there.

The alien lifts one of its long arms, it’s hand almost laughably large and fingers tipped with claws. It reaches out to Shiro and makes a grunting sound.

Shiro’s fascinated by it’s fingers. It has a thumb! An opposable thumb! Convergent evolution millions of light years apart.

The alien gestures again, grunting. He’s not sure what it’s doing.

It shifts, moving from it’s frightened fetal position to kneeling to face Shiro now. The first thing Shiro’s brain notices is it’s penis. It’s short and fat, darker than the aliens body but with a sheen to it that means it’s probably bald compared to the fur covering the rest of the alien, but it’s clearly some sort of genitalia. A _him_ then.

Shiro’s starting to wonder how something like this could survive on Kerberos— how does it stay warm? Breathe? What does it eat?

And then he notices the bruises.

The alien is covered in dirt and grime, and it’s blue but Shiro feels like he knows blood when he sees it. This had to have happened earlier— maybe to get the alien into the chains. It had snarled at Shiro before. And there’s the caution line. It must be dangerous.

Shiro tilts his flashlight a bit to confirm— there’s chafing around the aliens neck where the collar sits tightly. It’s wrists are bleeding and raw. A big cut on his face was stitched shut.

The alien holds out another hand to him, and gestures back at itself. It taps at the collar on its neck, and grunts.

“Oh my god,” Shiro whispers.

It— he— he knows. The alien knows he’s being held prisoner. And the Garrison is keeping this quiet. And they’re hurting him. Why are they hurting him?

He’s asking Shiro to free him.

Shiro looks at his gaunt face— the sunken cheekbones, the thin arms. Its ribs are showing. If they found it on Kerberos, and brought it back here… that would have taken around five months for the return trip. Five months of holding this alien hostage already.

They didn’t have enough food for four crew members. They would have rationed hard, to make it last. But even still, Shiro doesn’t think they fed it much.

The alien grunts again, tapping at its collar. The sound rings loud in the large space around them.

“I… I can’t,” Shiro whispers.

What would he do if he freed the alien? He doesn’t even know what he wants. If Shiro frees him— what if the alien goes and hurts people? If the public finds out there’s aliens out there, it could be pandemonium. The Garrison must be keeping him locked up and secret for a reason.

Shiro trusts his superiors. They want to expand human reach beyond their solar system, that’s what Kerberos was all about. They want the best for humanity.

The alien is part of that plan.

Shiro lowers his flashlight so he can’t see the alien anymore. He shouldn’t have come in here. He can’t tell anyone he did. He steps back, seeing the glint of the aliens eyes in the dark. The alien makes a noise at him. Shiro doesn’t need to understand him to imagine he’s gesturing for Shiro to come back.

He turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. The alien shouts after him. It’s loud in the hall, until the bay door finally closes. Shiro can still hear it, but it’s less now.

He dallied too long. He has to get back to work. He wasn’t even supposed to know the alien was there. It’ll be easier if he just forgets about it.

Shiro starts his rounds again.

 

* * *

 

Shiro gets home just a little before 8am. The sun is out, the stars have receded to blue sky, and Shiro’s determinedly _not_ thinking about the alien.

He’s thankfully distracted by Keith, who’s hovering over the stove. Keith isn’t wearing a shirt, so he probably just woke up, but at least he’s wearing an apron to cook.

Keith looks up as Shiro comes in, the only acknowledgment he gives. Shiro’s legs ache, and he’s ready to fall asleep. He doesn’t want to think about the alien.

Shiro pops the top buttons of his uniform as he sits down at the table. It only has two chairs because it came as a set, but it works for Shiro and Keith. They rarely cohabit anyways— Keith uses Shiro’s apartment as a place to sleep, sometimes. Shiro doesn’t actually know where Keith lives, or if he even has a home. Keith refuses to say. Shiro should be more worried about that, but he hasn’t seen Keith in nearly two weeks.

Not that Keith says much of anything. He was seeing a doctor while he was still in the Garrison, but he can’t afford one anymore. Shiro’s offered to pay for further sessions or for a specialist, but Keith refuses him every time. They never were a really chatty pair, the two of them, but now they can go for days sometimes before making a sound. Shiro wishes he knew how to be a better friend, but he thinks a better friend would have told Keith to forget about him a long time ago.

Keith pours the pasta from the pot onto a plate— some white sauce, probably the hamburger helper Shiro keeps stocked for when Keith wants to make him dinner— and he triumphantly sets the plate down in front of Shiro.

Shiro glances at the generous portion and gestures to Keith.

Keith drops into the other chair and shakes his head.

Shiro frowns. Keith needs to be eating. He pushes the plate into the middle of the table. The intent is clear. _To share._

Keith scowls back at him. He points to himself, rubs his stomach, and then taps at his wrist where a watch would be. It’s hardly sign language, but Keith had _also_ refused that.

“You’ll eat later?” Shiro guesses.

Keith nods, and then gives the food a ‘ _shoo_ ’ gesture with both hands, back to Shiro. Shiro pulls the plate to himself and cuts into it. It’s warm, and it’s delicious. Keith always does chores for Shiro— like cooking, cleaning and sometimes he even does Shiro’s laundry while Shiro’s sleeping off a round of insomnia. Keith says it’s to make up for using his couch, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Shiro owes Keith his life. Whatever miserable, pathetic kind of life it is, it’s all because Keith pulled Shiro and Matt out of the wreck. Keith held the pressure on Shiro’s shoulder to stop him from bleeding out while emergency services tracked them down.

Keith hasn’t talked since. Shiro wishes he could at least remember what Keith’s last words were, but he was so out of it that the entire crash blurs together. And then the brain trauma fucked with his memory even more, so there’s a lot that Shiro doesn’t remember about that time.

Shiro sits back to sign, “thank you,” to Keith, before continuing with his meal. Keith sits patiently, cheek propped up on his knuckles. He raises his eyebrows in question. _How did Shiro_ _’s night go?_

Shiro shrugs in response. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Best to pretend it was just a normal night. He doesn’t want to say anything until he has his head on right. Even the fact that Shiro knows about the alien is a _huge_ issue. He could easily be fired for this— maybe even court marshaled. He won’t drag Keith into another one of his messes.

Keith gets up to scrub the pot while Shiro finishes eating. He takes the plate from Shiro even when Shiro insists on washing it himself, and points sternly at Shiro’s right arm. Shiro takes the hint and unbuttons his shirt so he can get it off.

It’s annoying to have to take off his prosthesis and stretch out his shoulder when all he wants to do is sleep. It’s also really hard to do with one hand, which Shiro thinks is an inherent design flaw. But it’s the top of the line— what the Garrison was willing to pay for him— and he can’t argue with being able to hold a mug of coffee or write his name.

Keith acts as his other pair of hands. He’s familiar with all the functions of the prothesis, and easily pulls it off of the cuff. It’s never a pleasant feeling, and Shiro cradles his stump of an arm tenderly. It’s a little swollen after a full night.

Like the alien’s wrists.

Shiro feels Keith’s hands on him, to guide him into his first stretch. He shrugs him off.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Keith backs off, used to Shiro’s moods, and goes to finish tidying up the kitchen. Shiro’s pleased to see that he doesn’t have any new bruises on his back or ribs, which means he’s been avoiding getting into fights lately. How a mute, unable to sass or trash talk, keeps getting involved in back alley brawls is beyond Shiro.

Shiro spots a bright colored box on the counter as Keith comes back to join him at the table. Keith must notice his expression, and glances over his shoulder to see what Shiro’s seeing.

“What’s that?” Shiro asks.

Keith immediately ducks his head as he fiddles with his hands, unsure of what to say. His cheeks go red.

Keith decides to get up and picks up the box with both hands. Keith cradles it like it’s delicate. Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever seen Keith be delicate in all the years they’ve known each other.

It’s a pale pink color, with a bright yellow bow on top. Both are colors Keith has never shown an interest in. The logo on the side says it’s from a flower shop that Shiro thinks is in the neighborhood.

Shiro pauses a moment before he opens it, glancing to Keith for permission.

It’s a… a small flower arrangement. A little glass bowl filled with a lovely array of flowers. It’s beautiful. Shiro says as much, and Keith starts glowing with pride.

“Is… is this for me?” Shiro asks. He has no idea how Keith can afford anything like this.

Keith’s grin turns into a glower, and he reaches across the table to snatch the box back, as if Shiro might try and steal it from him. He shakes his head, as if his actions didn’t make it clear enough that they aren’t for Shiro.

Shiro shrugs. He doesn’t understand Keith. A yawn interrupts his thoughts, and then Keith is frowning at him again.

“I’m going,” Shiro waves him off, “thanks for dinner.”

This is the longest interaction he and Keith have had in months. Something has put him in a really good mood. Shiro wishes he had the brainpower to think about it more. Why does Keith have flowers? Why does he suddenly care about flowers?

Shiro retires his Commander uniform to his closet. It’s easier to look at when he knows he doesn’t have to wear it anymore. He hangs his new uniform in front of it, to hide it, and crawls into bed in his underwear. He’s not sure if Keith is still here or not, but even if Keith hangs around Shiro doesn’t think he’ll hear him.

It clicks as Shiro lets out a happy sight and nuzzles into his blanket. The flowers aren’t Keith’s— they’re _for_ Keith. Someone bought Keith flowers. Shiro didn’t even know Keith was interested in anyone. Or that someone else is interested in Keith. Is taking the time to get to know Keith.

It means Keith has another life— one outside of Shiro. Shiro could shout with relief. Keith is moving on, he’s growing and meeting other people. This is great. Hopefully, for Keith’s sake, he’ll stop finding reasons to come back.

Shiro falls asleep thinking of sweet romances. Of holding hands and the fresh scent of flowers.

He dreams of the alien, alone and hurting in the dark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot my own updating schedule, woops! So, this is a day late, sorry!

The guards at the gate wave Shiro in without another glance at him. He stands in the lineup to punch in, listens to the idle chatter around him. People are laughing, getting their energy up for the long night.

They don’t even know that history is being made. That there’s an alien in this very building.

Shiro unpacks his bag into his locker carefully. He has the candies he picks through for himself. And today… the can of tuna fits oddly into his pocket. He puts it in the right pocket so that he can use his prosthesis to cover the odd bulge.

His dreams were so dark. Just the alien’s eyes flashing in the low light, and its pitiful whine as it begged to be freed. Shiro has to do something, just to soothe his own conscience.

Shiro nods politely at anyone who says hello, but he’s thankful no one expects him to talk back. He heads down to his station quickly.

What’s the appropriate amount of times he should circle before going in? Should he even go in? Once was mistake enough already— maybe they were recording him. No, Shiro knows there’s no cameras on this floor. And he knows why.

What if someone else is in there?

Then maybe he can ask about what’s happening to the alien. How they found it. How they brought it home.

Shiro keeps his head down as he passes Bay B4-17. He doesn’t hear anything. Maybe last night was a fluke. The alien won’t be bothering him anymore.

Shiro makes it two rounds— it’s so dead and quiet now— before he comes to a stop in front of the bay door. The alien is locked up because it must be a threat. That’s it. It’s trying to trick Shiro into releasing it, but he’s not going to be fooled by it. Him. It’s a him, Shiro remembers.

He swipes his ID for access, and heads in.

It’s dark again, save for the glow from monitor screens. The equipment that was here last night is all moved around or gone. They must have been running other tests today.

The rustle of chains alerts Shiro to where the alien is. The chains keep it against the back of the room, and the scientists must have had a little enclosure built for it. It’s like a kennel, off to the side, where Shiro can see the chains have retreated into. He’s keeping his flashlight pointed at the ceiling to give the most light.

“Hey,” he says, breaking the silence, “I, um, I don’t know why I’m here. I can’t let you out. Sorry.”

There’s scraping on the floor, and Shiro watches as the aliens face comes into the light. It’s just as unsettling as he remembers. Horrifyingly nonhuman, gaunt and long with sunken cheeks. The aliens eyes flash green-gold as he watches Shiro.

“I brought you this,” Shiro says, and he holds his flashlight under his arm while he digs out the can of tuna. It’s a peel-open, so he holds it in his right hand and uses his left to pop the tab and pull it off.

“Tuna,” Shiro says, “cats love tuna.”

As soon as he says it he regrets it. Just because the aliens eyes glow in the dark doesn’t make it a cat. Plenty of animals have eyes like that! It just means they’re adapted for low lights. He’s such an idiot.

The alien looks at Shiro’s face, and then down at the food. He pulls back his lips in a slow snarl. The hiss cuts through the air.

“It’s food,” Shiro says. It’s tricky to keep the flashlight in his armpit, but he manages, “you eat it. See?”

Shiro’s not just an idiot bringing tuna to an alien because it kinda reminded him of a cat, he’s also the idiot who didn’t bring a fork. He picks up a chunk from the can and eats it, “ _mmm_ , tuna!”

The alien doesn’t blink. Shiro steps a little closer, and the warning growl from the alien gets louder. He’s as close as he got last night. The alien is far enough away that Shiro still feels safe, even behind the safety line on the floor. Though, it’s limbs were so long that it could get to him in no less than two strides. His hair stands on end as he shuffles a little closer.

“For you,” Shiro says, and sets the can on the other side of the safety tape. The alien ducks back into the kennel at the loud tap of tin on concrete. Shiro steps backwards into safety, and breathes out a sigh of relief. The alien doesn’t come out of the kennel.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll give you some privacy,” he decides. He can’t spend all night in here.

Shiro glances back once before he leaves, but can’t even see the aliens eyes in the dark.

At least he’s not crying anymore.

 

* * *

 

Shiro puts off checking in on the alien until lunch.

It’s not actually lunch time, it’s 2am and seems like a good time to sit and eat. Shiro considered eating in the cafeteria, to listen to the sound of living people and pretend he’s part of it without having to engage, but this time he brings his paper bag with him to bay B4-17.

The door rumbles open and it’s still dark inside. He clicks on his flashlight.

No snarl, or whimpering, or the rattling of chains. Shiro picks his way to the back of the room, light on the floor. The can of tuna is gone.

A sense of pride hits Shiro. He did it. He fed an alien.

Shiro tilts the light up to peer into the kennel. He catches the glare of the aliens eyes.

“Not bad, right?” Shiro says.

He steps back to sit on the floor, in the safe zone, and sets his flashlight on the floor so that it’s pointing at the ceiling. Shiro sits down and opens his bag, pulling out leftover pasta and an orange.

The chains rattle again. Shiro can make out the shape of the alien peeking it’s head out of the kennel.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. The alien ate the tuna. He doesn’t have to stick around. But the idea of a real alien being _right here_ is the most marvelous thing Shiro can possibly think of. He wants to soak in all of the awe and wonder this creature gives him.

Chains, again. The alien is getting out. It’s probably curious about Shiro. Shiro checks again that he’s behind the safety line, and decides to wait.

It’s dark enough to mess with Shiro’s depth perception, so he doesn’t get a sense for how tall the alien is until it steps into the light. Shiro is looking at its knees, and he has to look up. And up. And up. The alien is taller than him. At least a head taller, and Shiro is a tall guy.

Shiro sucks in a shocked breath. The alien bends, crouching down at the knee, and extends its long, long arm. Right onto the striped tape marking danger and safety, it sets the empty tuna can.

“ _Mmm_ ,” the alien rumbles.

Shiro’s jaw drops. He takes a moment to compose himself.

He nods, shallow, “Yeah. _Mmm_. Tasty.”

“ _Mmm_?” the alien points at Shiro’s orange.

Shiro’s just finished peeling it, and pushes his thumb down the middle to split the orange in half. He doesn’t take his eyes off the alien. He’s sitting too far back from the line to reach, so Shiro gets onto his knees to shuffle forwards. The alien moves back, wary of him. It’s muscles are twitching as it— he— as he keeps himself tense. Shiro spots movement behind it and realizes the alien has a thin, whippish tail.

Shiro moves slowly, reaching as far as he can. He’s using his right hand— just in case the alien tries anything. Shiro sets half of the orange down beside the can, and on second thought he takes the can so he can throw it out.

He pulls back, but stays on his knees. The alien comes forwards, sniffing, and snatches the orange like Shiro might try and take it back. He sniffs it curiously.

Shiro peels off a piece of his half, and takes a bite.

The alien, brow furrowed, mimics him.

“Wow,” Shiro says.

The alien bites down, and then spits the orange onto the floor with a face of sheer disgust. His long, blue tongue— so long Shiro’s not sure how it all fit in his mouth— hangs out of his jaws as he tries to wipe the flavor off.

“Sour?” Shiro guesses. What does he have to help?

Candy! He has candy!

Shiro digs into his pocket to find his bag of sweets. It’s the same from yesterday, the caramel-filled ones. He shakes some out into his hand and misjudges the movement. Chocolates pour off of his palm and bounce along the floor. The alien hisses, flinching back, and his crest of white fur stands on end.

Shiro eats one quickly, showing it between his teeth before he bites down, “Mmm!” he says.

He pushes a handful so they roll over the line and the alien can reach them.

The alien has his lips pulled back in a snarl. His teeth are all sharp, like a shark, and they make Shiro’s skin crawl. But he still creeps forwards, and gingerly picks up a chocolate between two claws. He licks it experimentally, and his ears wiggle as he passes judgment.

The chocolate is up to muster, and the alien drops it into his mouth. Shiro waits as he bites down.

The response is instantaneous. The alien’s eyes go wide and his ears stand straight up. His crest even stands up. He lets out a loud _yowl_ , and then lunges for the rest of the chocolates and scoops them into his mouth.

Shiro laughs. The alien likes chocolate!

“ _MMM_!” the alien says. He spots the bag of Shiro’s chocolates in front of Shiro and gestures at it, “ _mmm_! _Mmm_!”

Shiro points at the chocolates and the aliens sounds get louder and the pointing more frantic.

The alien mimicked Shiro’s sound. It seemed to know how to ask to be freed. Maybe… maybe it can communicate. Or at least learn to.

“Yes?” Shiro says, and nods slowly.

He moves his finger to point at the half an orange in his other hand.

The alien’s ears fall back against his skull and he hisses.

“No?” Shiro says, and shakes his head.

It takes two more rounds before the alien seems to understand. It makes different sounds— nothing quite like ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but it starts nodding it’s head when Shiro points to the chocolate.

Shiro tosses another handful of treats over the line and the alien leaps onto them.

He sits back, tail wagging back and forth, and smacking his lips as he licks all of the chocolate out of his teeth.

“Yes?” Shiro tries again, pointing to the chocolate.

The alien shuffles over to pick up his half of the orange. His ears fold back against his skull as he glowers at it. To Shiro’s amazement the alien reaches forwards and sets the orange on the line. And then shakes his head ‘no’.

Shiro reaches forwards with a handful of chocolates. He’ll exchange them for the orange. He’s smiling so wide. He’s communicating with an alien!

The alien jumps forwards to snatch the chocolates, teeth flashing in the light.

Shiro flings himself back with a yell. His heart hammers in his chest. He forgot. He forgot that the alien is dangerous. Shiro shouldn’t be here. His break is almost over— someone might wonder why he isn’t in the cafeteria. They could come looking for him. He can’t be caught breaking in where he’s not supposed to be. He can’t fuck up this last attempt at a life.

He gathers his things without looking at the alien. The alien starts whining again, and stands up as Shiro walks away. He wails, loud. Shiro tries to cover his ears, and is thankful when the bay doors close and the alien is finally muted.

This was a mistake. Shiro can’t come back here again.

 

* * *

 

Keith isn’t there when Shiro comes home. The plate of food Shiro left out for him is untouched. Shiro wonders if Keith is preoccupied with whoever gave him the flowers. There’s an initial fear that Keith will forget about him, that Keith will realize that Shiro’s not someone he should be around. And then rational thought sets in and Shiro’s relieved that Keith is moving on.

He’s not up to cooking again, so Shiro eats the food he left out for Keith. It’s cold and he doesn’t bother heating it up.

A chocolate falls out of his pocket as he hangs his clothes. Shiro stares at it, hard, like it might answer him.

What the hell does he think he’s doing with the alien? Trying to be his friend? Treating him like he’s a stray dog and if Shiro feeds him enough, then he’ll like him? Why does he even want him to like him? The alien is dangerous. He tried to attack Shiro!

“He didn’t,” Shiro sighs. He’s embarrassed that he flinched so easily. He was safely across the line. The alien just wanted the chocolate.

But Shiro can’t waste more time there. He’s sure the scientists are learning all they can about it. They’ve probably made contact already. Shiro’s just acting like he’s important because he isn’t. He’s worse than nobody— he’s a train wreck. The Garrison’s Golden Boy, fallen prey to his own pride and left half his body as road rash out in the dunes.

He needs this job. He can’t mess this up. It’s the only thing Shiro has going for him. If he has to leave the Garrison he… he doesn’t know if he could make it.

The alien is capable of communicating, is intelligent enough to know its being held captive. And the Garrison is keeping him naked and alone in the dark, in the depths of the compound. Maybe all that twitching Shiro noticed earlier was him shivering?

_Don_ _’t think like that_ , Shiro warns himself. The alien has fur. He’s from an icy moon. The Garrison wouldn’t do that to him.

His own hands are still cold from being downstairs all night.

“Shit,” Shiro groans. He’s going back. He knows he is.

Shiro checks before he goes to bed. He has five more cans of tuna stocked up. And a full bag of caramel chocolates just waiting to be shared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... uh... I definitely forgot that I was supposed to be posting every two days. I'm sorry!!!!!
> 
> I promise this chapter is cute enough to make up for it though :))

Rolo finds Shiro in the locker room before the shift starts.

“Sure you don’t wanna join us for lunch?” Rolo drawls.

Shiro shakes his head, “I’m fine. I don’t like leaving the floor unattended.”

“Loyal to your post,” Rolo nods sagely, “I can respect that. Must be a lot of trouble in those boxes of old files. The rats keep you busy?”

“They don’t bother me,” Shiro says pointedly.

Rolo leans against the lockers, bowing his head in so their conversation is private from all the other men changing, “What if I brought lunch to you? No cameras down there— I could bother you a little more than those rats.”

Shiro stops cold, processing. He hasn’t been propositioned in years. He’s not sure if he should leap at the opportunity, or save himself the humiliation of when Rolo sees his body.

“No thank you,” Shiro finally decides, and meets Rolo’s gaze, “I’m good on my own.”

Rolo’s eyebrows raise, but he takes the hint and meanders away.

 

* * *

 

Tonight there are people in his quiet halls. Shiro takes note of them. All research, all long-term Garrison employees. Dr. Honerva is among them, with her husband, Commander Zarkon. Shiro wants to know what they’re saying, if they learned anything about the alien. But his stomach lurches at the sight of the Commander— at the Commander of the Kerberos Mission— and the impending horror he’d felt right before impact during the accident overwhelms him. He turns around and starts walking a different hall. It throws off his routine so badly that he gets dizzy, and has to go retch in a bathroom before he can compose himself again.

 

* * *

 

Shiro makes it back around as the research seems to be winding down. They’re all, completely conspicuously, standing outside Bay B4-17, clearly here for something more than old files. If Shiro were anyone else he’d be getting nosy and asking what they were up to.

Then again, that’s why Shiro was assigned to be down here. Iverson told him as much. Shiro’s smartest move is to not ask anything.

“Shirogane?” a loud voice calls. Shiro debates turning and walking away like he didn’t hear anyone, “Shirogane is that you?”

Too late. He takes a deep breath for calmness, and turns to face Sendak. The pilot for the Kerberos mission.

“Yes sir?” Shiro asks. He’s looking at the top of Sendak’s ear. He doesn’t want to make eye contact.

“Don’t _sir_ me, what are you? A cadet?” Sendak laughs, “I haven’t seen you since the launch— you were still in a wheelchair, right? And here you are! I didn’t even know you were involved with this.”

With the alien, he means.

“I— I’m just security,” Shiro says, and gestures to his uniform, “doing my rounds.”

“Just…” Sendak trails off, and cocks his head in confusion, “well, that’s a long way from being a shuttle pilot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Shiro replies, detached. He’s not thinking about the launch. About how he wished he would have a brain hemorrhage and die before they left Earth’s atmosphere.

“But a step up from mopping floors,” Sendak confides, and then laughs big, “well if you’re not involved you should probably turn around now. We’ve got things covered here— go look in other corners.”

Before the accident Shiro would have punched him for that. Or just shoved past him and stuck his nose into whatever was going on. Shiro has to take some solace in that he _does_ know about the alien.

“Yes sir,” Shiro agrees. He turns on his heel and marches in the other direction.

He tries to go slow, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s running away.

 

* * *

 

Shiro avoids B4-17 for hours. It disrupts the routine he’s just barely started to get used to, and leaves him feeling useless. He wanders the halls aimlessly, seeing nothing and no one.

He debates eating his lunch, but he remembers the aliens curiosity from last night and wants to wait. He wants to know how much the alien can learn. It mimicked him well last night, and was seeming to grasp the concept of _yes_ and _no_. Maybe that was it just wanting the chocolates and not the orange, or just copying what he did with no concept of what it was saying.

It’s closer to 3am when the halls are finally silent. Shiro comes around the corner and sees no one outside the bay. He’s hungry himself, and ready to sit down for a bit, so he decides to be a little reckless and uses his ID to open the door.

It’s dark inside, which, thankfully means they’ve finished up for the day. Shiro’s gone up to retrieve his lunch bag, and holds the strap in his right hand while he uses the left to turn on the flashlight. The air smells weird, different from before, but Shiro can’t place what it is just yet.

The alien is laying on the floor at the back of the room, face down. Shiro’s heart skips a beat. It’s sprawled, like it collapsed there.

“Hey?” Shiro says, voice barely more than a whisper. It sounds like a shout.

The aliens ear twitches.

Not dead then. Shiro sighs in relief.

“I brought dinner… er, maybe it’s breakfast,” Shiro muses.

He takes his seat a safe distance from the safety line. The alien hasn’t moved beyond his ears. Shiro opens his lunchbag, the zipper is loud. He brought two cans of tuna today. He holds one in his right hand, takes the time to curl his metal fingers around it so he has a good hold, and he pulls the tab to peel back the lid.

The alien groans, and shifts to turn his head to Shiro.

“Are you hungry?” Shiro asks, and sets the tuna down on the line.

The alien whimpers, and lets out a string of noises Shiro hasn’t heard it make before. He tries to decide if they’re happy, mad, sad? Hungry? Just noises? He doesn’t understand anything.

The alien slides his arms under himself, and slowly pushes himself up until he’s on his hands and knees. He’s shaky, even then, and wobbles like he might fall over. The alien pauses there, staring down at his hands.

Shiro takes hold of the can he set down, and taps it against the floor to remind the alien of what he’s getting up for.

The alien flinches at the noise, but then starts crawling. The chains on his throat, on his limbs, all creak and rattle as they move with him. The alien comes to a shaky stop in front of Shiro, and slowly moves into a seated position.

He’s hurt. He’s moving with pain. Shiro can see dark marks on his light torso that must be bruises. There’s lots of areas that Shiro can’t see— but he’s placing the weird smell now. Ozone, like electricity. They were electrocuting the alien.

The alien sits with his hands in his lap and his head bowed. He’s shaking, teeth clicking together. He might be in shock, or just that cold.

Shiro reaches forwards, and using his fingertips, scoots the can of tuna just over the line.

“You’ll feel better if you eat,” he says. It feels automatic. Shiro’s not even sure if it’s true.

The alien doesn’t lift his head as he moves one large hand to pick up the can. He brings it to his mouth and uses his other fingers to spoon it into his mouth. He’s eating, but Shiro can tell every movement is painful.

Shiro wants to ask why they hurt him this badly. But it’s likely they were conditioning the alien. He might be acting friendly to Shiro, but maybe he’s not safe to be around humans. They need to have him under control before they can show him to the world.

“ _Mmm_ ,” the alien rumbles. He uses his long tongue to lick the can clean.

“I brought more, do you want it?” Shiro asks. He holds up the second can for the alien to see.

The alien blinks slowly at him, thinking, and then points at the can in Shiro’s hand while he nods. _Yes_. Before Shiro can move the alien is moving, setting the empty can on the line, and then turning its hand over to lay it palm up, waiting for the new can.

It doesn’t have pads on its paws like a dog or a cat, though the palm of his hand is lighter colored than the rest of him. Shiro grips the tuna tightly. The alien wants him to set the can in his hand. That’s getting too close for Shiro’s comfort.

“ _Mmm_ ,” the alien prompts, and wiggles his fingers.

The alien is hurting and doesn’t want to move more than he has to, Shiro reminds himself. Shiro can be faster than it, if he doesn’t panic. He’s going to be fine. Shiro focuses on his hand and curls his fingers around the can again, so he can use his left to peel the lid back.

Shiro gets to his knees for balance, and reaches forwards, staying calm to keep from spooking the alien. It watches him with those intense yellow eyes.

Shiro stops just a few inches above the aliens hand, and drops the can into his palm. He pulls back quickly, and only then realizes he was holding his breath.

The alien doesn't move immediately, like Shiro assumed it would. It slowly closes its fingers around the can, and slides its hand back towards itself. Minimal movement, minimal effort. It's shaking begins all over again, and it struggles to hold the can steady so it can eat from it.

Shiro's gut twists in all sorts of uncomfortable patterns. He doesn't like seeing anything hurting like this. How could the Garrison just leave him like this?

Shiro tries to remember what to do for someone in shock. All that springs to mind is a blanket. It's so cold down here anyways, the alien should have a blanket to keep it warm. To ground it. He gets to his feet, and the alien pauses in eating to watch him.

There has to be something around here that he can use? But what?

He picks up his flashlight and casts around the room. Monitors, equipment, IV lines— is that a cattle prod? Shiro glosses over them. He doesn't want to think about them.

There's the tarps for the machines. He could hand that to the alien, let it do what it will with it. Then he spots it— a lab coat, left behind. There's splatter of blue blood on it. Shiro debates the morality of giving this to the alien, but then decides that being warm is better than anything. He comes back to the alien, who's ears are pointed attentively at him. The aliens eyes flash in the dark.

"Here, take this," Shiro says, and tosses the bundled coat at the aliens feet. The alien flinches back, ears pressing down against his skull, and his lips curl back in a snarl.

"Its for you," Shiro says, "put it— put it on."

It's in vain, he reminds himself. There's no way the alien can understand what he's saying. Shiro doesn't even know if it's actually capable of rational thought or not, or if he just wants to believe it is. But it mimics him well.

Shiro undoes the buttons on his security uniform. He's wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath now, so the cold is much easier to handle and he's not afraid of anyone staring at his scars.

The alien chirps curiously.

"Like this," Shiro says, and points at the lab coat in front of the alien, and then at his uniform shirt. He drapes it over his shoulders, and then draws it in with his hands in front, like he's wrapping himself up. Shiro shivers dramatically and says "Brr".

"Hrr," the alien replies.

Shiro points at the lab coat again, and then to the alien.

The alien sets the can of tuna on the ground, and nervously picks up the lab coat. He unfolds it, unsure of which way is the correct orientation. He decides on wrapping the coat lengthwise over his broad shoulders, and, to Shiro's surprise, pauses to tuck the dangling sleeve in front over his groin, for modesty.

Dread claws at Shiro's guts. A modest alien. Who is aware that he's naked. Who is embarrassed about being naked. That's beyond dolphin or gorilla intelligence. That's like an adult human.

"Hrr," the alien growls.

Shiro takes his seat, and they stare at each other across the line, wrapped in their own coats. The alien is still shaking, but he pulls the coat tighter around his shoulders and Shiro feels like he's thankful for it.

"Who are you?" Shiro wonders.

The alien grunts, and for a moment Shiro thinks it's a legitimate response. Then the alien taps at the tuna, and at the labcoat, and nods enthusiastically.

"You say 'thank you'," Shiro draws the words out slowly.

The alien cocks its head.

"Thank you," Shiro says again.

"Tank oo," the alien growls.

If Shiro wasn't already sitting he would have fallen over on the spot. The alien can speak— can communicate.

"Do you understand me?" Shiro asks, "can you speak english?"

The alien blinks at him, waiting for some prompt. It feels like a no, then.

What does one do when faced with an alien who wants to communicate? But can't? Should Shiro be teaching him English? But the Garrison is with the alien all day. Surely they're already taking care of it.

Shiro doesn't think about the cattle prod.

Instead, he reaches up slowly to tap his chest, and says, "I'm Shiro. Shiro."

The alien narrows his eyes, processing, so Shiro repeats the gesture.

"Hu— Huro," the alien growls. Shiro nods, and taps himself excitedly.

"Yes! Yes, me! I'm Shiro!"

And now for the big test, he turns his hand over and gestures to the alien.

The aliens ears perk up, and he quickly growls some sound that Shiro can't quite understand. His confusion must show, because the alien's ears droop, and he starts again, slower.

Shiro understands nothing of his words— if he's speaking a sentence, or a full, long name.

"Oolath?" Shiro tries.

The alien shakes his head, huffs, and repeats himself.

"Oolazz," Shiro draws out slowly.

The aliens ears come straight up, and he _chirrups_ as his whole face lights up. Shiro can't help but grin.

"Ulaz," Shiro repeats. The alien actually wiggles in place.

"Huro," the alien says.

"Ssshhh-ee-row," Shiro says slower.

The alien pauses a moment, and then repeats, "Sssshiro."

"Shiro," Shiro says with a nod.

"Shiro," Ulaz repeats.

"Ulaz?" Shiro says.

Ulaz whines loudly, and nods excitedly.

"Ulaz!" Shiro says again, and laughs at the sheer thrill of it. An aliens name! He's saying an aliens name! And an alien is repeating his name!

They repeat their names back and forth a few more times. Ulaz seems excited every time Shiro says his name. Shiro wonders if he's like what the doctors said Keith might get like— after he went mute. They wanted him to take sign language immediately, because living in a society where no one understands you is torture. Where you exist but can't be heard. It's why Shiro was learning sign right along with Keith-- albeit with one hand rather than two, so they always had to improvise.

Maybe Ulaz hasn't heard his own name in a long time. Shiro's heart hurts a little.

 

* * *

 

Shiro eats his sandwich— and ends up giving half to a very interested Ulaz. They share the new bag of chocolates that Shiro brought, and Ulaz won’t stop a loud barrage of ‘ _Mmm_ _’_ ‘ _Shiro thank you!_ _’_ or just saying Shiro’s name over and over again. He’s so loud, compared to the silence of the room around them.

Shiro can’t stop grinning, and Ulaz’s enthusiasm is making him laugh.

He struggles to put a finger to his lips, “Ulaz, _shhh_!”

“Sshhhiro!” Ulaz hisses back.

Shiro bites his lip, and shakes his head, “No, shh. Quiet,” he whispers, to emphasize his point.

Ulaz mimics the finger to the lip, slowly working through the action.

“ _Shh_ ,” he repeats.

Shiro holds his finger to his lips and nods. They’re both silent, staring at each other.

It’s weird but Shiro… is getting used to Ulaz. He doesn’t think Ulaz is that scary anymore. He knows, of course, that Ulaz is dangerous. It’s why the Garrison has him in chains. He just hasn’t shown Shiro any reason why the Garrison is _keeping_ him in chains— why they had to leave him beaten and hurt today. What had he done to deserve that?

Shiro thought Ulaz looked like a monster when he first saw him. That’s just not true anymore. Ulaz has a flat nose, a little underbite. He has bushy eyebrows and long ears that are always on the move. And with those high cheekbones and broad shoulders, if he was a human he would almost be cute.

Not that Shiro thinks he’s cute.

 

* * *

 

Shiro gets home— no sign of Keith, a quiet house and a full plate on the windowsill— and he goes through his routine. Eat. Clean. Shower. Stretch.

He lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Normally he’s exhausted at the end of his shift. He’s tired now, make no mistake, but it… it doesn’t feel like weights clamped to his limbs.

Shiro rubs his wrists, thinking about Ulaz’s chaffed skin.

He can’t place this feeling. He feels light— there’s no heaviness to his body. Shiro can’t remember the last time…

Riding out early with Keith and Matt, open dunes in front of them. Matt’s arms locked around his waist as they set out to just have _fun_.

Shiro realizes what the feeling is. He feels… he feels happy. Like he spent the night talking with a good friend.

He rolls over, curls his knees to his chest. Does he… does he think Ulaz is a friend? He can’t be— Shiro barely knows him. Barely knows anything _about_ him. He only learned Ulaz’s name tonight. He can’t think of Ulaz as a friend. That’s illogical. It’s pathetic.

But Shiro does anyways.

He closes his eyes, and thinks about how excited Ulaz had been when Shiro figured out his name. How fast he learns. He was so relieved to get the coat to cover himself.

Shiro rolls over onto his other side. He likes Ulaz. As a friend. But that means Shiro has to acknowledge him as something more than an animal.

He lets out a long sigh. If Ulaz is just like a person… then how long can Shiro stand to see him in chains?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HERE IT'S HERE!!! This is one of my FAVORITE chapters of the whole fic!!! 
> 
> AND WE HAVE ART!!!! If you click on the images you'll be taken to the amazing Kickingshoe's tumblr, where you should ABSOLUTELY follow them and reblog the art if you like it <333
> 
> The art does wonky up the width of this chapter a bit, but I decided it was worth it for the STUNNING detail that KS put into the pieces. 
> 
> Heads up! The violence warning for this story is for this chapter! While there's no specific descriptions of gore, there is a lot of bloody aftermath! Read safely!

Shiro makes two lunches— one for him, one for Ulaz. He sets out the leftovers from last night for Keith again today. This routine is normal, so he probably won’t see Keith again for another week or so. That’s good. He can figure out what the hell he’s doing with Ulaz in that time.

He hurries through the reporters swarming the gates of the Garrison and gets punched in. Shiro heads for the lockers. He decides, for his own dignity, to keep his head down when Rolo offers him a smile and a wave. Shiro’s still not sure how to handle that kind of attention. Or if he was right to turn Rolo down. Maybe he should reconsider— he’s turning to an alien to be his friend now. Maybe what Shiro needs are new people in his life.

And, well, a little sex never hurt anyone. It _has_ been a long time. Shiro thinks it would only be mildly awkward to have sex with Rolo, and have to keep working together afterwords.

But for today, he avoids the conversation and the decision.

 

* * *

 

Shiro hears the screaming even before the elevator doors open. He pulls his taser and prepares for the worst.

“Don’t shoot it!” Iverson howls. He’s standing in the doorway to bay B4-17.

Shiro can hear Ulaz roaring— a terrifying, inhuman sound that makes his hands tremble.

There’s blood everywhere.

Commander Zarkon and Dr. Honerva are crowded over Sendak— the Commander is pinning him on the floor in the hall while the Dr. holds cloth to his face. It’s soaked red with blood. Sendak’s screaming. It sounds equally inhuman.

Shiro freezes.

Someone else— Haxus, the other crew member of the Kerberos mission, grabs the elevator door to hold it open.

“Zarkon! The elevator!”

“Takashi?”

Shiro knows the voice. He can’t look away from Sendak writhing on the floor. He’s had nightmares— maybe memories, likely not— of the blood at the crash site. Seeing Matt pinned, his own arm gushing blood. Just so much blood.

Zarkon is dragging Sendak, trying to carry him while Honerva keeps pressure on his face. Blood is flying everywhere.

“Where’s the fucking ambulance? We need a stretcher!” Zarkon snarls.

“Soon, soon,” Honerva consoles him. They don’t even see him. Shiro needs to move out of their way. He can’t move. He’s frozen.

Hands fist in the front of his uniform, and yank him out of their path. Shiro turns his head to watch as Zarkon and Honerva drag the screaming Sendak into the elevator. Haxus joins them, closing the doors, and then they’re gone.

Someone is throwing up. Ulaz— Shiro flinches as he hears Ulaz scream. It’s cut off abruptly, while Iverson keeps yelling.

“Don’t kill it you idiots!”

“Takashi? Takashi are you alright?”

There’s hands on him, holding his shoulders, smoothing them down. Shiro turns to face his rescuer.

Commander Holt.

Shiro nearly gets sick.

He cut ties with the Holts as soon as he could, after he’d ruined both Matt and Commander Holt’s dreams of making history. After he’d nearly killed Commander Holt’s son. Shiro has steadfast avoided the Commander in the time since he returned to work at the Garrison.

And now here they are.

“Takashi?” Commander Holt asks again.

Shiro straightens his back, stepping away, “Yes sir, sorry.”

Everything is happening so fast.

“There was… an incident,” Commander Holt says, “it’s okay now, son. Take a breath. You look shaken.”

“I’m okay,” Shiro says, and edges away. What does he do? There’s blood all over the hall. Ulaz must have attacked Sendak, and Sendak ran or was dragged out. It’s on the walls, the tiles, even sprayed onto the ceiling.

“Fuck!” Iverson snarls as he storms out of the bay, “I want to know who gave it that fucking coat! And why it wasn’t properly secured?”

Shiro feels lightheaded.

There’s a round of shaky ‘yes sirs’ to Iverson’s demands. Someone still inside the bay, Shiro can’t see them, is gagging loudly.

Iverson stops dead when he sees Shiro.

“You’d better keep your lips sealed, Shirogane,” Iverson warns.

Shiro flinches when Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder, “John, calm down. You know we can trust him.”

Iverson bares his teeth like he wants to snarl at them. He gestures at the blood on the floor, “Whatever. Find someone to clean this up.”

He storms back inside the bay, presumably to check in on Ulaz.

“Takashi,” Sam says gently, “come with me. We should talk.”

It’s the last thing Shiro wants to do, but Sendak’s screams are still bouncing in his head and they sound too much like Matt and Keith that Shiro can’t focus on anything else.

He nods, and obeys.

 

* * *

 

They end up in the bathroom, and Commander Holt splashes water on his face. He doesn’t even try to dry it off and lets it drip off his chin and onto his uniform. Shiro stands at attention, waiting for conversation. Commander Holt leans back against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor of the mens washroom. Shiro feels like he should join him, but he doesn’t want to get comfortable.

“Christ,” Commander Holt groans, and rubs his eyes, “I… I heard you were working nights, and that you’d just been promoted to security— but I didn’t imagine seeing you again like this.”

“Sorry,” Shiro mumbles.

“No, it’s,” Commander Holt sighs and shakes his head, “it makes sense to assign you here. You’re trustworthy. How long have you been down here?”

“Just this week,” Shiro replies automatically.

“Have you noticed anything… strange?” Commander Holt presses.

Shiro could say yes. He could say he already knows about Ulaz. But that would be admitting that he’s been breaking conduct. Iverson is already out for blood— well, more blood— and Shiro can’t make himself a target.

“No sir,” Shiro says.

“I’m sure you understand what I mean when I say something is confidential,” Commander Holt says. Shiro nods, and the Commander continues, “the Kerberos Mission was a bigger success than we could have imagined. They went in search of evidence of other life in the universe, and what they found— well, life found them.”

“Life…” Shiro tries to play dumb, even though he’s thinking about Ulaz and him trying to out- _shh_ each other last night and how Shiro hadn’t been able to stop giggling, “like?”

“An alien,” Commander Holt says, and his eyes light up with wonder, “they found an alien. Takashi, you wouldn’t believe what it’s like to look at it and _know_ that this creature is not from Earth.”

“A creature that attacked Sendak,” Shiro points out.

Commander Holt sobers immediately, “Yes, yes it did. The— we’re calling it The _Asset_ , to keep things a little coded, you understand? The Asset acquired a spare lab coat overnight. It was ignoring our attempts to communicate, keeping the coat over its head. Sendak tried to take it away, and, well, it’s a wild animal. It responded to having its territory invaded.”

A wild animal.

Shiro wants to argue with him. But Sendak had been mauled.

“You’re trying to communicate? Any luck?” Shiro asks.

Commander Holt shakes his head, “Like I said, it’s an animal. Apparently incapable of speech or reason.”

It’s on the top of Shiro’s tongue to ask about the beatings. The bruises and cuts. What does that have to do with anything? With establishing a line of communication?

“Can you believe it?” Commander Holt grins at him, “an _alien_. Remember how Matt and you would joke about what they were like?”

“I— I should start my rounds,” Shiro announces. No, no he’s not talking about that. The past is dead. His connection to the Holts is dead. Shiro feels clammy, and sweaty, but he’s cold. He needs to get away.

“Takashi?” Commander Holt says quickly, “are you okay?”

He gets to his feet, just as Shiro heads for the door.

The radio on Sam’s belt crackles to life.

“ _Sam? Do you still have Shirogane with you?_ ” It’s Iverson.

Commander Holt doesn’t look away from Shiro as he lifts his radio to reply, “Yes, I’m looking at him.”

“ _Send him over. We need him._ ”

 

* * *

 

Shiro’s stomach does cartwheels as he and Commander Holt round the corner back to the bay area. It smells like blood.

Iverson is finishing talking with someone, and waves the two of them over.

“Shirogane, you’re getting a promotion.”

Shiro drags his eyes off the blood on the floor— its drying dark around the edges. Iverson has a cleaning trolley with him.

“John,” Commander Holt says sharply.

Commander Iverson cuts him off, “Enough, Sam. I’m sure you already spilled the beans. We can’t risk any more outsiders on this, and Shirogane is well equipped to handle this. Besides, you wanted to be a janitor, right?” he says, specifically to Shiro.

Shiro’s mouth is dry. He doesn’t know what to think.

“Y-yes sir,” Shiro says.

“We’ll give you access to the bay,” Commander Iverson continues, “officially your role is still in security, but you’ll keep the bay tidy, especially if there are any more… accidents.”

“There won’t be,” Commander Holt says quickly.

“I was thinking more in The Asset’s case,” Commander Iverson joked, “now, Shirogane, I’m sure you’re smart enough to stay behind the caution line? Fair warning, the thing in there is not human, is disgustingly ugly, and probably wants to rip your face off like it did to Sendak. So my advice to you: keep your head down, don’t talk to it, don’t look at it, and do _not_ engage with it. Am I clear?”

Shiro nods, “Yes sir.” If only Iverson knew what he’d been up to.

Commander Holt puts a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro does his best not to flinch away, “I’ll go in with you—”

“No,” Commander Iverson orders, “Sam, you’re with me. We have too much paperwork and responses for the news to get done before morning. Shirogane’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

Commander Holt doesn’t seem happy about this, but Shiro can’t wait for them to go. Cleaning up blood makes his stomach churn and threaten to revolt. If he doesn’t think about it, then it’s just mindless work. It’ll keep him from thinking about everything— the accident, Commander Holt knowing where he is, and better yet, it’ll stop him from thinking about Ulaz. Hopefully.

 

* * *

 

His mop is dyed pink before the hall is even cleared. There are still a few soldiers finishing up whatever they’re doing in the bay, and Shiro doesn’t want to go in there until they’re gone. He’s afraid Ulaz might do something to give him away, and Shiro isn’t sure if he wants to be considered friendly to something willing to do such horrible things to another person.

The soldiers don’t pay much attention to him as they finally head for the elevator. Shiro keeps mopping. He wipes down the walls. He takes the service elevator to the upper floors to go change his mop water. It’s so quiet, but purposeful. If only he could have been a janitor, he would have never met Ulaz. He would have never had to see Commander Holt.

Soon enough, it’s time to enter the bay.

It’s the first time Shiro’s done so with permission. It doesn’t make him walk any lighter. He’s still afraid of what he’ll find.

There’s more blood, obviously. Someone puked on the floor, and Shiro doesn’t have to look to assume someone probably threw up in the trash bins either. It reeks. The smell of ozone is also heavy— electrical, so, from when they tazed Ulaz into submission.

The lights are all on, so Shiro can see him. He’s passed out, in a heap, at the back of the taped-off area. He still has the lab coat held in his claws.

Shiro throws a bucket of water down on the floor. If he cleans fast, he might get out of here before Ulaz wakes up.

Shiro was starting to think that Ulaz was actually someone decent— someone he could call a friend. Nice, misunderstood, but overall friendly. Now he… he doesn’t know. Shiro can’t be friends with a creature who would just _maul_ someone.

There’s a lot to clean. Shiro’s almost grateful for that. He works up a sweat and takes off his security jacket. This is good work. He misses this.

It’s backwards, but he works his way from the door in towards the back of the room. The last place he wants to be is near Ulaz, though he has to do it some time.

That means, though, that Shiro is mopping around the safety line when Ulaz finally stirs.

Shiro notices his tail twitching, and then his ears as he comes to. He shifts a bit, moving from where he’d collapsed, and stretches out with a pained groan. The chains sound heavy as they clang together.

Shiro turns his back to Ulaz and keeps mopping. If he works fast he can get out before Ulaz is coherent enough to notice him.

“Sshhhhhhiro?”

Maybe not.

Shiro stubbornly doesn’t respond.

He hears more chains rattling, Ulaz groaning and whimpering in pain. Shiro refuses to look. He mops hurriedly. It might not be the best job, but he needs to get out of here. He doesn’t know what to do about Ulaz. What does he say? What should he say?

“Shiro?” Ulaz says again, “Shiro!”

Shiro rounds on him even as he tells himself not to, “What, Ulaz? What do you want?”

Ulaz is on his knees, a little closer to Shiro than he was before. He’s covered in singed fur, and a splatter of dried blood on his front. Human blood. Hes holding the lab coat to cover himself.

Ulaz’s ears press back against his head at Shiro’s tone.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says again, “ _Mmm_.”

He touches his lips, in case Shiro didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I’m not feeding you,” Shiro says decisively. He packed an extra lunch for Ulaz, it’s sitting in his locker upstairs. But is it right to give Ulaz food after he attacked Sendak? No, no. Shiro won’t be played so easily.

He turns away and mops along the line dividing them. The chains shift and creak, and Shiro finally looks up when he hears footsteps. Ulaz is walking with him, following him.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says again. He makes a few more noises. They sound happy.

Shiro looks away again. He can’t even have a conversation with Ulaz because Ulaz can’t speak any earth languages.

Maybe this is Ulaz’s trick. He acts friendly and nice to everyone, to fool them into trusting them. And then, when they cross the line, Ulaz attacks. He could be just as smart as Shiro thinks he is, but with a malicious streak.

There’s so much blood.

Shiro can remember Keith’s hands slipping in it as he tried to hold on to Shiro. Matt crying for help.

Ulaz chirps again, “Shiro? Shiro?”

“I’m not talking to you!” Shiro shouts, “you nearly _killed_ a man today! I’m cleaning up his fucking blood! So don’t try and ‘Shiro’ me!”

“Shiro,” Ulaz whines. His ears droop.

“They think you’re an animal! And I think they’re right? I thought you were misunderstood— alone, and scared. But you’re just as violent and awful as everyone thinks you are. And fuck me because I wanted to believe in you. I wanted to think that maybe we— we could be—”

Shiro pauses to gasp for air. He’s talking too fast. His head hurts.

“Shiro?” Ulaz says. His head tilts to the side, “Shiro?”

Shiro pushes past his breathing and snarls, “You’re violent and terrible and I don’t want anything to do with you!”

The pressure in his head builds as he shouts, but the screaming is so cathartic to the chaos in his heart that Shiro can’t stop. He’s out of breath, almost gasping between words. He feels light. Something’s wrong, but Ulaz looks cowed and Shiro can’t stop. His hands are shaking, he can’t catch his breath. He’s dizzy.

“I didn’t— I didn’t know why— why they chained you up,” Shiro snarls, “but now, now I do—”

His grip on his mop handle tightens. He can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe_!

Distantly, Shiro’s aware that he’s having a panic attack. He should sit down, go through his breathing exercises. Go through the motions of soothing himself. Go sit down somewhere quiet where he can regroup.

He doesn’t do any of that. He doesn’t think he can move.

The last thing he sees, as his vision tunnels and he wheezes on every inhale, is Ulaz shouting his name.

 

[ ](http://kickingshoes.tumblr.com/post/172766193872/art-for-demenior-s-voltron-whisperbang-an)

 

Shiro comes back to himself slowly. He’s sitting down, with his legs stretched out in front of him. His head feels like it’s been filled with cement, and his whole body aches in a way that makes him want to crawl into bed and not move.

There are feet on either side of his. Long, purple legs with huge feet tipped with two clawed toes each. Ulaz breathes deep, slowly, his chest pushes against Shiro’s back. His hand rises in front of Shiro, palm up, and pauses as Ulaz holds his breath. Shiro struggles not to flinch when Ulaz breathes out and moves his hand to push gently on Shiro’s chest,  broad hand splayed with all fingers out. Ulaz’s other hand is loosely curled around Shiro’s stomach, keeping him upright.

Shiro’s instantly aware of his claws. And how easily Ulaz could disembowel him. Or rip out of throat. Or his eyes. Or anything.

He goes stiff, and Ulaz must notice.

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks.

  [ ](http://kickingshoes.tumblr.com/post/172766193872/art-for-demenior-s-voltron-whisperbang-an)

 

Shiro’s eyes blink back into focus. He’s been dragged past the safety line. He can see where he dropped his mop on the floor. He’s completely in Ulaz’s zone, with no way to defend himself.

He feels Ulaz’s hot breath on the crown of his head, and then Ulaz is breathing deep again, pulling his hand away to lift it up. He breathes out just as slowly, pushing down on Shiro’s chest.

Shiro doesn’t know if he should fake being asleep. If he’s awake, he might give Ulaz a reason to rip his head off. But if he’s asleep, he doesn’t know how long it will be until Ulaz gets bored with him. He doesn’t know if he could move, in the moment. His hands and feet feel oddly different from the rest of him.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says, seriously. He breathes in deep, lifting his hand again, exaggerating the motion, and then as he breathes out he pushes down again, making Shiro exhale with him.

Oh. _Oh_.

Shiro breathes with Ulaz on the next round, sucking in deep as Ulaz’s hand rises, and releasing as Ulaz presses on his chest. Ulaz _chirrups_ in delight. He nuzzles Shiro’s hair, apparently happy with the response. They breathe together a few more rounds. Ulaz rubs his cheek against the top of Shiro’s head, like a cat would. Shiro regains all of his senses and finally comes out of his panic attack.

No better time like the present. If Ulaz was going to kill him, Shiro figures he would have already.

“Ulaz,” Shiro finally risks saying.

Ulaz pauses, attentive.

Shiro doesn’t actually know what to say. Ulaz could have killed him. He had the opportunity. Instead, Ulaz helped him. Not only that, but Ulaz seems to know what to do for a panic attack. He’s been instructed, or told, how to help.

No animal would respond like this.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says again, and he brings up his hand to touch Ulaz’s hand on his chest, “thank you.”

Ulaz still doesn’t let him go, so Shiro doesn’t try to move. They keep breathing until Ulaz seems satisfied, and pulls his hands off of Shiro.

Shiro’s not sure if that means he’s free to go or not. He doesn’t make any sudden movements, but he leans forwards, and moves to get his feet under him.

He crouches, still in the v of Ulaz’s legs, and faces the alien. Up close, with the lights on, Ulaz looks awful. His ribs show, his fur seems to have come off in areas— some shaved, some not. His eyes are sunken and his crest of hair is matted and greasy. He needs to be cleaned, fed, taken somewhere to recover. Shiro can’t imagine what the five months coming back from Kerberos were like for him.

Ulaz lifts his hands and Shiro forces himself to stay steady. Ulaz might be weak, malnourished and chained. But he would catch Shiro and kill him before Shiro could run for safety. _If_ he wanted to hurt him, which, Shiro doesn’t think that’s the case at all anymore.

Ulaz touches Shiro’s face gently. He’s careful with his claws, and runs the pads of his fingers across Shiro’s skin. It’s a… a friendly touch, an exploratory gesture. His fingers curl, just catching the line of Shiro’s jaw.

Ulaz scootches himself closer. Shiro’s a relieved to see that he’s wearing the lab coat like a makeshift skirt. Ulaz tugs Shiro a closer, forcing Shiro to shuffle forwards on his knees.

Ulaz brings their foreheads together slowly so they don’t knock skulls. Shiro watches him curiously, and feels the shudder that goes through Ulaz’s body. The alien lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes.

It feels like a ritual. Shiro keeps his eyes open, but doesn’t move. After a moment, Ulaz blinks one eye open to glance at Shiro, who shrugs in response. What is he supposed to do?

Ulaz moves one of his hands, reaching for Shiro’s left hand, and brings Shiro’s hand to his face, palm-to-cheek. Shiro takes the hint and does the same with his right. He really hopes Ulaz doesn’t freak out about his prosthesis.

Ulaz makes a happy sound again, and closes his eyes.

Shiro knows there are cultures on earth who use a similar gesture as a greeting. He breathes easy, slowly, in through his nose and then out through his mouth.

Ulaz pulls back first, and he reaches out to tug on Shiro’s wrist, urging Shiro closer. Shiro’s never going to get away from him. He’s so grabby and handsy.

This is an _alien_ who wants Shiro’s attention.

Shiro moves to sit beside Ulaz. He’s curious about what will happen next.

Ulaz still has Shiro by the wrist— the left, and he examines Shiro’s hand with wide eyes. He runs a claw up Shiro’s palm. It tickles and makes Shiro flinch. Ulaz looks to him worriedly, but Shiro smiles, and doesn’t pull away. He hopes that’s sign enough that Ulaz didn’t hurt him.

Instead of using his claw again, Ulaz tilts his head to press his cheek into Shiro’s hand and nuzzle. He closes his eyes and sighs softly.

Ulaz wants to be touched. He wants these… close, personal touches. At first Shiro wants to think him weird. He thinks it through. Ulaz has been a prisoner for at least five months. Of people who are afraid of him, who put him in chains and think he’s a dangerous animal. No one has touched Ulaz in a long time, except to hurt him.

Shiro thinks of how nice it is to feel Keith’s hands on his shoulders on the odd occasions that Keith makes him stretch. How Commander Holt taking him by the shoulder had been so firm, so familiar, that Shiro can still feel the weight of it.

He knows what it’s like. To go from everything, to nothing.

Shiro curls his fingers to pull Ulaz closer. Ulaz leans with the pull, not giving up the touch. Shiro keeps his breathing steady, and guides Ulaz to rest his head on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro twists, to try and guide Ulaz’s hands, but Ulaz is already bringing his arms up and around Shiro’s waist. He’s been given permission, and clearly, he’s taking it.

Ulaz snuggles closer until Shiro can feel his breath on his neck, and he keeps his arms wrapped tight around Shiro’s waist. Shiro curls his arms around Ulaz’s torso as best he can, holding him close. Ulaz’s leg even comes up to hook around Shiro’s outstretched legs. He’s practically crawled right into Shiro’s lap.

Shiro pets down his back, and rests his head on top of Ulaz’s. Ulaz breathes deeply. Shiro wonders if he’s actually taking in Shiro’s scent. Then, Ulaz shudders, and whimpers so loudly Shiro wonders if he hurt him. He’s about to pull back, to see what’s wrong, but Ulaz rolls his hips so he’s nearly lying on top of Shiro, and tightens his hold.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says softly, and picks up rubbing his back again, “it’s okay, Ulaz.”

Ulaz shakes, wheezes, and tightens his grips until his claws are in danger of ripping Shiro’s clothes. He keeps his face pressed to the bare skin of Shiro’s throat. Shiro never feels wet, so he doesn’t think Ulaz sheds tears like humans do, but Shiro holds him while he cries all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ulaz :'((((
> 
>  
> 
> (Remember to go show KS some support on their amazing art!!!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I clearly have no concept of the passage of time, and therefore cannot accurately measure how long two days is. I genuinely thought today was posting day, even though the last chapter was posted like FIVE DAYS AGO.
> 
> Y'all are free to bother me on tumblr abt that, lmao. Help keep me regular. 
> 
> In any case, enjoy!

“I brought lunch,” Shiro announces, walking back into the bay. Ulaz’s ears quiver at his voice, turned towards him. The alien crawls out of the little lean-to that was built as a kennel for him.

Ulaz walks to meet him, waiting expectantly at the end of his chains.

Shiro pauses just before the tape that marks where it’s safe to stand, and where Ulaz can reach. He’s only just finished cleaning the blood off the floor from where Ulaz mauled Sendak.

He steps forwards defiantly, holding a plastic bag filled with food out for Ulaz.

“ _Mmm!_ ” Ulaz says loudly, and dances on the spot. He reaches out quickly, and then stops himself, pulling his hands back. He’s scared Shiro before in moving too fast.

Shiro nods to where they were sitting earlier, a spot where they can put their backs against the wall, “Right there?”

Ulaz follows on his heels, peering over Shiro’s shoulder and sniffing curiously at what Shiro brought with him.

Shiro takes a seat and Ulaz crowds in next to him. The alien smells, well, like a big hairy animal and it’s not necessarily appealing, but Shiro puts up with it. Ulaz didn’t ask for these circumstances, so Shiro’s going to make the best of it for him.

“I have peanut butter, and I have a tomato-chicken sandwich,” Shiro says, and holds them both out, “which one do you want?”

Ulaz sniffs at both curiously.

“Here,” Shiro decides, and takes the sandwiches back, “you can have half of both. That way you can try them.”

While Shiro’s separating the food, Ulaz finds the cans of tuna.

“Shiro!” Ulaz says excitedly, pointing at a can. It looks so small in his massive hands, “ _mmm_!”

Shiro nods, “ _Mmm_ , for Ulaz.” He gestures from the can to Ulaz, hoping it makes sense.

Ulaz scratches at the lid, and just when Shiro realizes he has to explain how to open it, Ulaz determines how to hook his claw in the lever to peel the lid back.

“You’re smart,” Shiro notes. Ulaz scoops tuna ravenously into his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Ulaz loves the chicken sandwich, and is hesitant about the lettuce in it but decides to eat it anyways. He loves the peanut butter but eats it too fast and gets it stuck in his mouth. Shiro bought a bottle of water at the vending machine upstairs, so it’s nice and cold, and lets Ulaz have the whole thing. Ulaz likes the banana, though he prefers it with the peel on. And eats an apple in four bites. He finishes the other two cans of tuna that Shiro brought.

Shiro gives Ulaz the other half of the peanut butter sandwich, just to see how Ulaz’s whole face lights up. He gets a, well, there’s no other way to describe it: he gets an affectionate nuzzle in return. Ulaz holds Shiro’s face between his hands so he can rub their cheeks together.

He finishes eating with a pleased _chirrup_ , and then leans his weight right into Shiro. Shiro’s not quite ready for it, and almost falls sideways. He ends up with Ulaz sprawled onto him again, and whether it was an accident or not, Ulaz seizes the moment and tucks his head under Shiro’s chin, and wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist. He settles in with a happy sigh.

It’s still early in the morning. No one will be coming by for a few hours. Shiro knows he has nowhere to be, so he settles in and rubs a hand up and down the knobs of Ulaz’s spine.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says softly, “thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Ulaz doesn’t move for quite a while. His ears and tail twitch occasionally, his breathing is slow and even. There’s only a slight wheeze. Shiro disturbs him once when he takes off his jacket. Ulaz sits back and blinks groggily, making some grumpy growling, mewling noises at being woken up. Shiro guides him to lay back down against him again, and then drapes his jacket over Ulaz’s shoulders as a makeshift blanket. Ulaz curls a little tighter around him.

It’s been so long since Shiro’s been this close with someone. The warm weight of Ulaz feels… peaceful. If only there weren’t heavy chains attached to him, shackles on Ulaz’s wrists pressing into Shiro’s skin where Ulaz has a soft grip on him. Ulaz is warm against him, though he still shivers in the cold of the room. Shiro wishes he had something better to cover him with. The crest of fur on Ulaz’s head is a lot softer than Shiro had assumed it would be— it’s not wiry and stiff, but feels more like hair than fur.

Shiro could almost enjoy this, if it weren’t for all the signs of Ulaz’s imprisonment. He can’t leave Ulaz here. That’s no longer an option. But he doesn’t know how to change things. Shiro’s gone from being a hero to a nobody. He has no power.

Ulaz’s fingers find the space of skin between Shiro’s waistband and the hem of his shirt, and Shiro jolts as Ulaz presses cold fingers up under Shiro’s shirt.

“Okay, okay,” Shiro sits up, “enough.”

Ulaz rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. Shiro feels a little guilty for waking him up, but those wandering hands were starting to get a little too personal.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, and then realizes he doesn’t know how to ask.

“What… what happened?” Shiro mimes clawing over his face, “with Sendak?”

Ulaz tilts his head to the side, trying to understand.

Shiro considers dropping the topic. He’s not sure how to convey his question in a way that Ulaz can understand. Shiro reaches out to take Ulaz’s wrist in his hands. He pauses a moment, glancing up at Ulaz to check if this is okay, but Ulaz holds his arm out in agreement.

Shiro bends his hand back at the wrist, pressing his thumbs into Ulaz’s palm, so Ulaz’s fingers naturally curl forwards. Shiro leans forwards as he drags Ulaz’s hand in a slow swipe, miming what he thinks the attack was on Sendak.

Ulaz’s ears go flat against his head and he growls low in his throat.

He yanks his hand away from Shiro and bats at the lab coat he has tied around his waist, “Ulaz!” Ulaz thumps his chest, and taps the lab coat again, “Ulaz!”

Just in case Shiro doesn’t understand, Ulaz takes Shiro by the wrist this time, guiding Shiro to try and grab the lab coat, and then pushing Shiro’s hand away with a firm shake of his head.

“It’s yours,” Shiro translates for himself, “and they tried to take it from you. Even when you told them not to.”

Shiro himself mimes being Sendak, pretending to grab Ulaz’s coat, and then uses his other hand to pretend to hit his own face. Ulaz nods. _Yes_.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. He knows Ulaz can’t understand him.

Shiro reaches out slowly to take Ulaz’s face in his hands and pull him forwards. He tries to remember how Ulaz did this, and turns their heads so he can rub their cheeks together. Ulaz’s fur is greasy, and Shiro can feel grit and grime in his fur. Ulaz makes a pleased noise, and brings his own hand up so he can hold Shiro’s face steady and press their foreheads together. Shiro braces this time, and is ready when Ulaz pushes into him.

Shiro wonders if Ulaz comes from a culture that is very physical with one another, or if these actions are all Ulaz wanting comfort. He’s liked it whenever Shiro has his hands on him so far.

And this close, Shiro can’t quite help himself. He slides his left hand up, curling under the curve of Ulaz’s long ear, to scratch at the spot behind it. Shiro wants to know if Ulaz likes that.

Ulaz _squawks_ so loudly that it startles Shiro, and he shoves Shiro back with one hand. His mouth hangs open, ears standing straight up in shock. Shiro holds both his hands up, fingers splayed. Did he hurt Ulaz? What did he do? Why did Ulaz freak out all of a sudden—

Shiro notices where Ulaz’s other hand went. He shoved Shiro away, while also shielding his lap. Shiro stares for a moment as mortification dawns on him. Oh, _oh_. Behind the ears is an erogenous zone. And Shiro had just beelined for it.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says quickly, and shakes his head ‘no’. Ulaz creeps back a step from him, still trying to keep himself covered.

Shiro turns his head and taps behind his own ear, and then shakes his head ‘no’ again, “That’s not— I didn’t know. I’m sorry!”

Ulaz covers the spots behind his ears with both hands, and shakes his head ‘no’ at Shiro. Shiro shoves his hands under his arms and nods in agreement. He really hopes Ulaz doesn’t think he’s a huge pervert now.

Ulaz forgives him when Shiro slides him the bag of chocolates he’d forgotten at the bottom of his lunch box.

 

* * *

 

Shiro comes home to an empty apartment. Keith didn’t show up, and so Shiro eats the leftovers he’d set out for him. The food tastes bland, and Shiro finds he’s not that hungry even though he gave most of his food to Ulaz.

He can’t stop thinking about Ulaz, alone in the depths of the Garrison. Where they treat him like an animal because that’s what they think of him as. And he’d attacked Sendak— Sendak had provoked it, Shiro is sure of it— but no one else is going to see it that way. Things were already bad, and they’re going to get worse.

Shiro doesn’t want to believe it. He was friends with most of the people involved— in another lifetime he would have been one of the people involved in studying the alien brought back to Earth— so he wants to think better of them. To believe in their good natures. None of them got to where they are by holding themselves back because they were scared of getting their hands dirty.

Shiro stops eating and puts his head in his hands. Ulaz is going to get hurt. There will be retaliation for the attack on Sendak. Worse than they’ve already done.

It’s because Ulaz can’t— or, really, because he won’t— communicate with them. Shiro should come forwards. If he shows them that Ulaz is reasonable, is _nice_ , even, then they can’t hurt him. They’ll have to let him out of the chains.

And then what? Say ‘sorry’ and send him on his way? What could the Garrison do for Ulaz? It took years to execute the Kerberos launch. Millions of dollars. They won’t do that just to send Ulaz home.

Better a life stuck on earth than a life stuck in that basement, though.

Who could Shiro go to? He’d have to go to someone high up.

Commander Iverson immediately comes to mind and Shiro wants to flinch away from the image. Iverson hates him, is _disgusted_ by him. He’s more likely to laugh in Shiro’s face, and then ban Shiro from ever setting foot in the Garrison again just for breaking protocol and talking to Ulaz in the first place. Iverson is the last person Shiro wants to talk to.

He can’t talk to Commander Zarkon. Zarkon was part of the crew that kidnapped Ulaz in the first place. Shiro has no doubt that Zarkon is convinced of Ulaz’s feral nature. Zarkon may also refuse to believe Ulaz is sentient to keep his own conscience clear— Shiro can’t imagine the guilt of having taken a creature, only to find out it was actually a kidnapping. Not to mention, Ulaz attacked one of Zarkon’s crew. Shiro remembers the crew-bond well. No, Zarkon’s probably going to be first in line to hurt Ulaz if he’s given the chance.

Remembering his crew brings Shiro to Commander Holt. His stomach threatens to revolt against him. Asking Commander Holt to trust him, to put his faith in Shiro again after Shiro ruined all of their lives, is Shiro’s worst nightmare. He and Commander Holt used to be close— he was a friend, but with enough distance in age that he was also a role model that Shiro looked up to. Shiro had been so happy to be accepted into the Holt’s home, into their family. He’d spent many nights up late with Commander Holt, dreaming of the future. And then it had taken all of two seconds during a sharp turn for the hoverbike to tip and rip those dreams to shreds.

Commander Holt had always had a soft heart. He was a reasonable man. Shiro’s pretty sure reasonable men don’t give second chances to the people that paralyze their kids and rob them of the greatest achievements of their careers, but this might be the only chance he has to help Ulaz.

Shiro lays in bed and feels guilty for it. He has to act soon. He can’t let someone else suffer because of him. Ulaz can’t stay in chains.

His only hope is Shiro, and that makes Ulaz the most unfortunate creature in the universe.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're lucky I got reminded to update this, cause it wasn't gonna happen until friday lmao

Shiro only sleeps a few fitful hours. It’s barely noon when he decides he won’t be able to sleep any longer. The sun is disorienting to see after so long without it. Shiro stands in the beam of light in his kitchen and feels the sun on his skin. It makes his stomach churn with how Ulaz is locked underground and being treated so poorly.

He isn’t hungry, but he sits down at his table. Ulaz can’t stay down there, Shiro has to think of something. What has to happen? Ulaz can’t be in chains anymore, that’s obvious. Ulaz can’t be locked up like a prisoner.

But the Garrison might be right to be keeping him hidden. People would go nuts if they knew there was an alien amongst them. There’s no way Shiro could get Ulaz away from the Garrison anyways. All he has to do is prove that Ulaz is safe— is friendly. But to the right person, so they can’t deny Shiro just because he’s at the bottom of the food chain.

Shiro groans and rests his head on the table. It has to be Commander Holt. He’s going to have to beg Commander Holt to believe him. But why would he? Commander Holt thinks Ulaz is an animal. He probably thinks of Ulaz as dangerous, possibly an enemy, after what happened with Sendak.

Shiro’s going to have to show him— to prove to him that Ulaz isn’t a monster. It’s going to mean getting Commander Holt alone with Ulaz at some point. Commander Holt has always been a man of reason— he believes what’s proven to be true. Shiro just has to convince him to come back at night, after everyone has left. That’s all Shiro has to do right now. After that, when Commander Holt sees that Ulaz doesn’t kill Shiro— when Ulaz talks to him— then he’ll have to believe that Ulaz isn’t violent.

Unless Ulaz isn’t nice today. Shiro doesn’t think the alien is naturally violent, but he does have teeth and claws. And he’s just so _strange_ that Shiro’s hair stands on end when he thinks about how casually they’d been touching each other last night. He also remembers his embarrassing blunder in rubbing behind Ulaz’s ears. Shiro feels the need to appologize further, to make sure Ulaz knows he’s not trying to take advantage of him.

That, and, Shiro just wants to bring a bunch of blankets to wrap Ulaz up in. He wants to feed him until Ulaz is no longer skin and bones.

Shiro glances at the clock. He’s barely slept. He hasn’t been awake at this time in months. Tonight is going to be rough if he doesn’t lie down, but he’s too jittery to even think of that.

There’s a bakery around the corner. Shiro sees their sign from the bus every night. Apparently they have really good cupcakes. Shiro wonders if Ulaz would like those.

 

* * *

 

Shiro finds himself at the Garrison before the sun sets. He hasn’t slept, but he’s too wired to notice. It’s going to be a very long night. He bought a pre-cooked chicken from the store, along with some vegetables. He’s been feeding Ulaz so many sweets that Shiro’s a little worried about his nutrition.

Shiro hasn’t been to the Garrison this early since the launch of the Kerberos mission. He’s made accutely aware of it as people glance at him, take in the scars on his face and his white-streaked hair and make their connections. He used to be familiar with most of these people, for all the time he spent here. People gawk, and Shiro puts his head down and marches through.

He heads right for Commander Holt’s office. He has to catch him before the Commander leaves for the day, has to find him in the right frame of mind to listen to Shiro’s requests that the Garrison stop what it’s doing, and admit that he’s severely broken protocol. Again.

Shiro’s been running over what to say all day. He’s been practicing, trying to find the right balance of aggressive and respectful. He’s not sure he found it, but he’s as close as he’s going to get.

“Commander Holt is reasonable,” Shiro mutters to himself, “just because you paralyzed Matt and ruined the mission doesn’t mean he won’t listen.”

He gets a few odd looks but doesn’t stop to be embarrassed about it.

Shiro makes it to Commander Holt’s office, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. He knocks sharply on the door. He has to do this, he reminds himself, for Ulaz.

Should Shiro have just gone straight to Ulaz downstairs? Will Shiro pleading even change anything for the alien, or will it force the higher ups to keep Shiro away from Ulaz?

Shiro can’t stomach the idea of Ulaz being alone, cold, and afraid anymore.

There’s no answer. Doesn’t look like there’s any light under the door either. Commander Holt isn’t here.

Shiro closes his eyes a moment. Okay, where else would he be?

“Shirogane!” a voice calls.

Shiro sucks in a hasty breath, and turns.

“Haxus,” he greets. The researcher for the Kerberos Mission.

Haxus furrows his brows, “You’re here early. Don’t you work the graveyard shift?”

“I, uh, had some things to discuss,” Shiro evades poorly.

“Holt isn’t here,” Haxus points out.

Shiro nods, “Yeah, I’m just— I’ll see him—”

“You’re working with the Asset now, right? I saw you last night, if I’m not mistaken.”

Shiro can’t believe Haxus saw anything while he was hauling Sendak into the elevator.

Shiro swallows, and nods again, “Yes sir.”

“Holt’s probably down with the others— you know about Sendak, yeah?” Haxus asks. He moves forwards, and his beckons Shiro to join him.

Shiro walks along, unsteady, “Yeah. I saw you get him in the elevator. Is he—”

“Sunnova bitch is too stubborn to die,” Haxus laughs, “not that that _thing_ didn’t try. Have you really looked at it?”

They’re heading down through the floors, back the way Shiro came. They’re… heading for the elevators. The only ones that lead to the basement.

“Yeah,” Shiro says.

“Ugly piece of shit,” Haxus laughs, “and we spent the entire trip back with it! At points I thought I was going to kill it because it wouldn’t shut up, but, you know, all in the name of science.”

_You kidnapped a sentient alien who doesn_ _’t know why he’s being hurt_ , Shiro thinks. He doesn’t voice his opinion.

“He’s something else,” Shiro says agreeably.

Haxus hits the call button for the elevator.

“You want to talk to Holt about getting reassigned?” Haxus asks.

“What?” Shiro stammers.

“I don’t blame you,” Haxus shrugs, “yeah, you fucked up with the accident, but you’re still _the_ Takashi Shirogane. When Iverson said he put you on as janitor I thought he was kidding. Making _you_ a janitor? The guy’s an asshole.”

“He likes to get his way,” Shiro says.

Haxus snorts an agreement.

The elevator arrives, and Shiro and Haxus are the only two heading down.

“If it’s any consolation,” Haxus says, “I’ll talk to Iverson too. But I don’t think he’ll budge. We do need someone we can trust, and only for a little longer.”

“Little longer?” Shiro repeats.

“Right, you just got here,” Haxus says, “well, they decided today that, because we’ve got most of the physical tests done that need to be done, they’re calling in reps from the UN and they’re gonna dissect the thing.”

“Dissect?” Shiro’s voice is deceptively calm. He feels like a bad echo.

“Well, the thing can’t talk, can’t learn, can’t pass along any other useful info, other than what’s inside it. You should see if you can get clearance for it, Shirogane. Once in a lifetime opportunity to see an alien inside-out.”

The elevator _dings_ as they reach the bottom floor.

Shiro grips his lunch bag tightly with his left hand. It’s shaking. He’s shaking. He feels like he’s in shock.

“When?” Shiro asks. He barely keeps himself from sounding like he’s pleading.

“Day after tomorrow,” Haxus says, “I can’t wait til we’re done with this thing. Catch you later!”

Haxus takes his leave and strides ahead to join some officers and researchers who have their heads bent over some papers. Shiro stands, dumbfounded, in the elevator doorway.

They’re going to kill Ulaz. They kidnapped him, they’ve held him hostage, _hurt_ him, and now they’re going to kill him.

Shiro has to find Commander Holt. They can’t kill Ulaz. They _can_ _’t_!

 

* * *

 

Shiro spots Commander uniforms clustered outside the Bay doors where they’re holding Ulaz.

There’s Zarkon, Iverson and Holt, along with Honerva from research and another man in a suit that Shiro’s never met.

“All I’m saying is that two days sounds far too quick to go about all this,” the new man argues. He has a vaguely British accent, Shiro thinks. Maybe Australian? They’re hard to tell apart sometimes.

“We have to worry about the Asset’s health,” Honerva explains, “any longer and it could be contaminated by local viruses or infections.”

“Well then let me take him, and we’ll put him somewhere sterilized,” the man says.

“It’s been exposed to five months of close contact with humans— obviously it can survive our bacterial life, but this is as close to untainted as we are ever going to find one, unless we go back for another.”

The strange man pauses a moment, “Are you thinking about it?”

“That’s not important,” Iverson says, “the dissection happens on schedule. I don’t care if your team can’t make it on time.”

“Who did you say you were with again?” Commander Holt asks.

The man is about to answer, when he spots Shiro approaching them.

“Um, hello there?” he says.

Even with Ulaz’s life in his hands, Shiro still gets stopped in his tracks as the man glances him over, taking in the scars and burns that show even when Shiro’s in uniform.

“Shirogane?” Zarkon says, “isn’t is a little early for night crew?”

“Why do you have bags?” Iverson demands, “are you moving in?”

“It’s just, um, lunch, sir. For later,” Shiro says.

He gets some curious looks as everyone glances between the large lunchbag, extra bag for Ulaz, and the box of cupcakes that Shiro’s carrying.

Shiro feels the need to defend himself, and adds, “I get hungry.”

“So why are you bringing it here? This isn’t the cafeteria,” Iverson snaps, “now what do you want?”

Shiro feels like an idiot. He should have stopped to put everything into his locker. Now he looks unprofessional in front of many of his superiors.

“I,” he wishes he could stop himself, because now is _not_ the right time, “I need to talk to you,” he says to Commander Holt, “it’s urgent.”

“Is someone dying?” Zarkon asks.

Shiro wants to laugh at the irony. But he recognizes when he’s being told off.

“I’ll come find you,” Commander Holt assures him.

“Clock doesn’t start for a few more hours,” Iverson tells Shiro, “I don’t want to see you until you’re on duty.”

Shiro feels defeated. He glances at the closed Bay doors. Ulaz is in there. Shiro’s the only one who can help him. For a moment Shiro considers marching in and freeing Ulaz right now, right in front of everyone. But he knows how that ends. No one here thinks of Ulaz as anything more than a dangerous animal.

Shiro’s ears are burning as he walks back to the elevator. He feels like he’s a child, and he’s been publicly chastised for being brainless and airheaded. This is not how he wanted to rebuild his reputation.

No one has called for the elevator since he arrived, so the doors open almost immediately after Shiro pushes the button to head upstairs. He shuffles in without looking up.

“Hold on there!” someone calls from behind, and just as the doors start to close, the man who was talking to the Commanders slides in to join Shiro.

Shiro shuffles to the side to give the man space.

“Push the main level for me?” the man asks, “got to go make a phone call now, I suppose.”

Shiro makes a small grunt of acknowledgment. He hates small talk.

“I’ve always had issues with military types. They can be so rude, right?” the man tries again.

Shiro wishes he had somewhere to escape to. Instead he stares at his feet. As if he’s going to insult his superiors with some stranger. That’s not how the Garrison works. They’re a family.

The man clears his throat, and then Shiro sees the flash of a hand in his direction, “Well, Coran’s the name. And you are?”

It’s nice, pretending that he doesn’t know who Shiro is. Shiro debates ignoring him, but being blatantly rude to someone who’s dealing with Iverson and Holt is more likely to backfire on Shiro, than to put this Coran in his place.

“Shiro,” he offers, and adjusts his grip on his bags so he can shake Coran’s hand with his prosthesis.

“You work down there?” Coran asks before they’ve even finished the shake.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, and nothing more.

“So you’ve seen it? This ‘Asset’?”

Shiro clenches his teeth. Yeah, he’s seen Ulaz.

“I’ve seen him.”

Coran’s watching him, Shiro can tell from the corner of his eye, “What do you think?”

“About?” Shiro says vaguely.

“They’re going to kill it,” Coran says, “what do you think?”

Shiro keeps his eyes forwards. They’re almost at Coran’s stop.

“The Garrison is doing what it has to,” Shiro responds.

Coran is still looking at him, and Shiro doesn’t like it. Yes he has scars and burned skin, yes some of that is visible over the collar of his uniform. He has a prosthetic arm. Staring is just rude— just letting Shiro know that he looks like a freak.

“What do you want?” Shiro snaps, and turns to look at Coran.

Coran has an odd expression on his face. He looks away from Shiro, “I think it’s a tragedy.”

Someone else who thinks killing Ulaz is wrong? Shiro realizes that maybe he should be making an ally of Coran. Who is Coran with? It’s tantamount to treason to go behind his superiors backs, to try and make a deal with someone outside the Garrison. Shiro could lose his second chance, his life’s dream of working at the Garrison… but Ulaz could lose his life.

“Could you save him?” Shiro asks carefully.

Coran looks back to Shiro and meets Shiro’s gaze.

“Could you?” Coran asks.

Shiro opens his mouth to argue, when the elevator stops and the doors open. People are trying to get in, but step back when they see Shiro and Coran trying to exit. Coran pushes his way out, and Shiro has to sidestep some busybodies looking to make the elevator.

By the time the crowd clears, Coran is gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Chimeric-civetta over on tumblr who's keeping me honest about my every-two-days posting schedule!
> 
> This chapter is pretty sad, so brace yourselves!! It's always worst before things get better!

Shiro can’t find Coran again, and ends up heading to the locker room. He hides out in there, thinking of Ulaz just below him. The lack of sleep is starting to hit him, and he finds himself nodding off from time to time.

Walking around is a terrible idea, because it’s still daytime staff. All of the people Shiro used to work with before his accident. He can’t be seen by them.

It takes forever and no time at all before Shiro decides to head to Commander Holt’s office to meet him before he leaves for the day.

He keeps his head down and makes it through the Garrison with little hassle.

Shiro knocks once, and waits for Commander Holt’s permission to enter.

His heart is hammering in his chest as Shiro enters the room. It’s just him and Commander Holt. He hasn’t been alone with him since Shiro was in the hospital.

“Takashi,” Commander Holt greets. He looks tired, even grim.

“Commander Holt,” Shiro dips his chin in a very informal bow before he sits at the chair in front of Holt’s desk.

“What can I do for you?” Commander Holt asks.

“It’s… it’s about the… the alien,” Shiro says. He practiced giving his spiel so many times, and now he feels like he doesn’t know what to say. If he reveals that Ulaz isn’t an animal, that’s going to mean more tests for Ulaz. But then he won’t be dead, and that has to be better, right? Or what if they still want to dissect him?

“You want to see the surgery?” Commander Holt asks, “I think I can make that happen.”

“No!” Shiro shouts, louder than he should, “no, I don’t want to see it. I— I don’t think he should die—”

“Sam?” Iverson says as he pops his head inside.

Shiro stops cold and doesn’t turn around.

“John,” Commander Holt greets, “I’m just finishing up with Takashi, I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Alright,” Iverson says, “car’s waiting.”

The door closes, and Shiro can’t even relax for that.

“We’re going to visit Sendak,” Commander Holt explains, “after, you know, what happened downstairs. Now, what about the Asset?”

Shiro’s going to throw up. Commander Holt is going to visit the soldier that Ulaz mauled. Of course he’s not going to listen to Shiro’s pleas not to kill him.

“I— I don’t think he deserves to die in surgery,” Shiro manages to say.

Commander Holt looks like he ate something sour, “It won’t die _in_ surgery,” he says firmly, “we’re scientists. Not sadists.”

Shiro nods quickly, “Yeah, right. Sorry. I’ll— um, you have somewhere to be. I have to start work.”

He stands up quickly, almost knocking over the chair in his haste to get to the door.

“Takashi,” Commander Holt calls, “is that… is that all you needed to say?”

What other lie can Shiro make up? He can’t say anything about Ulaz. He’s alone in this, he can’t trust anyone. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says. He came in early for his shift, made a scene in front of Iverson, Zarkon and Honerva to talk to Holt, and then requested this just to say… absolutely nothing. Commander Holt isn’t an idiot. He’ll know something is wrong.

Shiro doesn’t have it in him to come up with anything more convincing.

He takes his leave, and all but runs past Iverson waiting in the hall.

 

* * *

 

“I’m alone,” Shiro says to himself. The elevator down to the basement feels longer than ever. He’s alone, completely alone in trying to save Ulaz. If Shiro fails: Ulaz will die.

Shiro doesn’t waste time pretending to search the perimeter. He heads right for Ulaz’s bay and opens the doors. He brought Ulaz lunch and he’s going to feed him right away instead of make him wait. Shiro’s also desperate to see what state Ulaz is in, after attacking Sendak yesterday.

Ulaz has been brought out and chained to what looks like a low exam table. His wrists are shackled to the side, and his hands have been bound in cloth and taped closed to keep him from clawing anyone. He’s on his back, at the mercy of anyone who wants to examine or hurt him.

“Ulaz!” Shiro shouts. He races forwards across the caution line, dropping all of his bags.

Ulaz’s ears flicker at his voice. The collar around his neck has been chained short so he can barely lift his head up.

One of his eyes is swollen shut. The smell of singed fur is still heavy in the air. The electric prods they use to control Ulaz hang on the wall, like they’re everyday tools for using at work and not instruments of torture. Lots of Ulaz’s fur on his chest and stomach has been shaved, and he seems to have burn marks on his skin as well. On some of the bare patches it looks like the leftover marks from sensors being placed on his skin. He’s been bandaged up in other spots, and Shiro wonders how bad the injuries were that they finally were treating them.

“Shiro?” Ulaz whimpers.

“Hold on,” Shiro promises, “I’ll get you out of this.”

He can’t believe they would leave Ulaz like this— bound up and unable to move— all night! It ignites a rage in his gut that makes Shiro feel like he could burn the entire establishment to the ground.

It’s revenge, he knows it, for what Ulaz did to Sendak. Because holding Ulaz hostage isn’t enough, because being able to electrocute him with the electric prods isn’t enough, they have to make sure Ulaz is as uncomfortable and treated as inhumanely as possible. That’s how it goes. The Garrison is a family, and they don’t take kindly to strangers ripping off someone’s face.

Shiro starts at Ulaz’s wrists. His shackles have been attached to the table, with an extra pair of tight cuffs to make sure he can’t move. His wrists are chaffed raw and bloody. Shiro tugs and rattles at the chains, but there’s a padlock on them. He doesn’t have the key.

Shiro goes to Ulaz’s feet. Maybe he can get those free. It’s the same. Chains, cuffs, and locks.

“Shiro?” Ulaz whimpers again.

Shiro circles around the table to stand over Ulaz’s head. Ulaz turns to him as best he can. Remembering last night, Shiro leans over Ulaz’s shoulder to cup Ulaz’s face in his hands and tries to touch their foreheads together. The angle is terrible, but Ulaz makes a happy sound at the action.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says softly, “I… I don’t think I can get you out.”

“Shiro,” Ulaz says again.

Shiro ducks behind him, looking at the collar they have chained to Ulaz’s neck. Maybe he can undo that, at least. There, he finally has luck. The chain has been connected to a bar under the table to shorten it, using a zip tie. Shiro fishes out his house keys from his pocket and starts sawing.

Ulaz whines his name a few more times, so Shiro hums while he works. Knowing he’s there seems to be helping keep the alien calm. Shiro doesn’t know what more he can do for him.

Shiro can’t get a good enough grip on the key or the zip tie with his prosthesis to apply the right pressure to snap it, so it takes longer than it should to cut it open. He pulls it off and tucks it in his pocket, and then stands up. Ulaz has noticed his head isn’t being pulled to lay flat, and he sits up as far as he can.

“Shiro?” he asks, and wiggles his arms.

Shiro doesn’t know how to convey this properly to him, but he steps over to tap at the cuffs on Ulaz’s wrist and says, “No.”

Ulaz bares his teeth in a snarl and shakes his wrists again, “Shiro!”

“No,” Shiro shakes his head.

Ulaz throws his head back in a loud cry, and thrashes on the table. Shiro doesn’t blame him. He’d go crazy, strapped down like that.

“Ulaz, Ulaz,” Shiro says softly, as if that would calm him down. He looks around but he can’t see any forgotten coats or other items of clothing. Shiro takes off his own jacket and puts it over Ulaz’s hips. At least he’s covered again.

Ulaz calms when Shiro covers up his nakedness. His ears press back against his head, and for a moment he’s quiet. Then his voice hitches and he breaks into a sob.

Shiro’s chest feels tight. This is hopeless. There’s nothing he can do but try to make Ulaz as comfortable as he can.

“Shh,” Shiro says as gently as he can. He comes up to Ulaz’s head and strokes the long crest of white hair on his head. Ulaz doesn’t seem to cry tears, but he’s definitely crying. Frustration, fear, exhaustion. Probably some mix of all of those emotions, and then some.

“I’m here,” Shiro says, like that’s supposed to be any sort of comfort, “I’m here.”

He leans in again, and for a moment has a surreal sensation that he’s supposed to kiss Ulaz. Shiro shakes it off quickly and touches his forehead to Ulaz. Their noses rub together with the odd angle, but it can’t be helped. Ulaz hiccups and strains forwards to push against Shiro.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. He keeps his tone soft and even to help Ulaz calm down. Shiro stays like that, even as his back starts to hurt. He and Ulaz breathe each other’s air. Shiro opens his eyes at one point to find Ulaz staring up at him. Shiro can’t look away. Something shifts— Shiro feels it, between them. He thinks Ulaz knows something bad is happening, and that Shiro is the only one who can help him.

“You can’t stay here,” Shiro realizes, “I have to get you out.”

It feels like a foregone conclusion. But with everyone planning to kill Ulaz, the only way Shiro can save him is to betray the Galaxy Garrison and ruin his future. Again.

This time, at least, Shiro thinks it’s worth it.

 

* * *

 

“I brought lunch,” Shiro says after Ulaz has stopped crying. He goes to the bags he dropped when he came in to see Ulaz strapped to the table. Shiro goes right for the cupcakes. The icing has smeared on the top of the box when Shiro dropped them, but he thinks Ulaz will like them best.

Shiro brings everything over to set beside Ulaz. He takes a stool from one of the work stations around the room and brings it to sit on. It’s the tallest seat in the room, so it puts him at a good enough angle to feed Ulaz. He holds out the cupcake for Ulaz to see.

“ _Mmmm_?” Shiro hums.

Ulaz still looks like he might be on the verge of tears, and Shiro doesn’t know what else to do to stop that. Has it settled in for Ulaz that Shiro can’t help him? Or does he think Shiro’s purposefully not helping him? That Shiro’s with the others— the ones that hurt Ulaz. Shiro wishes he could explain everything to Ulaz, but without a common language, he doesn’t think it’s possible.

Ulaz’s ears flicker, and he closes his eyes tight for a moment.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” he finally agrees.

Shiro peels back the wrapper off of the cupcake and tosses it to the floor. He’s never done this for anyone and doesn’t know what’s the best angle to feed someone. Ulaz cranes his neck to sniff at the new food, and Shiro misjudges the distance, and Ulaz ends up with icing all over his nose. He pulls back with a surprised snort, eyes wide in shock.

Shiro pulls back as well, embarrassed about how badly he just messed that up.

Ulaz blinks up at him, bright green icing smeared on his face. Shiro chokes a laugh. Ulaz folds his ears back against his head and whines.

“Hold on,” Shiro says, and reaches forwards. He scrapes the clump of icing off with his fingers. It’s the best he can do unless he runs to get some wet paper towel from the bathroom. Ulaz stays perfectly still, and Shiro’s reminded again that this is a creature who tried to kill Sendak for getting this close. Ulaz watches him without any shame. His fur is soft. Shiro tries to smile for him, and sits back when he’s done.

“Try again?” Shiro asks. He holds out the cupcake. Ulaz curls a lip up and growls at it.

“Hey,” Shiro says, “trust me, you’re gonna like this. It’s sweet.”

Shiro doesn’t know how else to convey that to Ulaz, so he holds up his fingers that still have icing on them, and then slowly brings them to his mouth to lick off the icing.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Shiro says, and sticks out his tongue so Ulaz can see the green there.

Ulaz narrows his eyes curiously, and cocks his head to the side. Shiro enjoys the sugary taste, giving Ulaz a moment to think, and then offers the cupcake again.

Ulaz is a lot more cautious this time, leaning forwards nervously and jerking back any time Shiro’s hand shakes. He sticks out his tongue, just like Shiro did, to lick at the icing. His tongue is thick, long, pointed at the tip, and dark blue. Ulaz smacks his lips as he tastes it, and Shiro watches his eyes go wide as the sugar hits him.

“Shiro! Shiro!” Ulaz insists, and leans up to open his mouth and try to eat the cupcake. He can’t reach, no matter how far he strains his white fangs.

“Here,” Shiro says, and slowly moves the cupcake forwards. Ulaz takes a careful bite, and groans as he leans back and chews. He finishes the cupcake in two bites, and licks icing from Shiro’s fingers. It feels strangely intimate, and Shiro’s reminded of his impulse to kiss Ulaz earlier.

He’s just starved for affection, and deeply worried for Ulaz. Also, he’s sleep deprived. That has to be why Shiro’s feeling so weird.

Shiro leaves the other cupcake as a surprise, and goes into his bag for more food.

 

* * *

 

Ulaz makes a curious grunt, and Shiro looks up. Ulaz’s ears are standing up, and he’s turned his head towards the open bay doors. Shiro freezes.

Then, a _ding_ rings through the silence of the floor. The elevator. Someone’s here.

“Ulaz, shhh,” Shiro instructs, and hurriedly tries to pick up all of his bags. He can’t have his things behind the caution line— he can’t let anyone know he’s close to Ulaz.

“Sorry,” Shiro apologizes, and has to take his jacket back. He gets stuck on his prosthetic as he tries to get it on.

Shiro barely manages to get all his bags out of the way and runs for the bay entrance. Whoever it is will know he was in here, but at least he can say he was just curious about the alien. Shiro’s biggest fear is that Ulaz will give them away. Shiro has to make sure he doesn’t go into the bay with anyone else around. He’ll meet the person before they get inside.

Shiro’s heart is pounding in his chest. Who is it? Someone to do more tests on Ulaz? Someone here to hurt him? Shiro can’t spend a night listening to Ulaz in pain. They should be leaving Ulaz alone, letting him sleep. Fear and anger brew together in his gut.

He can hear approaching footsteps, slow and cautious. The person must have seen that the bay door is open. Maybe they weren’t expecting anyone either.

Shiro braces himself, and walks out to meet them.

He was expecting Honerva, maybe another scientist. Possibly Coran, sneaking around.

Shiro was not expecting to see Commander Holt.

Commander Holt’s surprised expression indicates he feels the same way.

“Takashi,” Commander Holt smiles, “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah?” Shiro says warily.

The smile falls, and Commander Holt looks grim, “We need to talk.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some strong language in this chapter, but it's emotionally charged!!

“We need to talk,” Commander Holt says.

Shiro nods towards the elevator. There’s another hall to walk down that will take them away from Ulaz, “Come with me, I’m doing my rounds.”

Commander Holt holds up a hand, “This won’t take long.”

Shiro stays planted where he is. What does Commander Holt want?

“Takashi I’m here because I care about you. Whatever happened after the accident, whatever reasons you have, I want what’s best for you.”

Shiro shudders. No, he doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s going to walk away if they have to talk about the accident.

“What?” Shiro grunts.

Commander Holt takes a deep breath to calm himself, “I need you to take tomorrow off. Or the rest of the week. I don’t want you involved, so call in sick, okay?”

Shiro narrows his eyes. If Shiro isn’t here, then someone else would have to cover for him to guard the lower floor. It would be someone unused to the floor, since Shiro was the first to be assigned here when Ulaz was brought in. Shiro being away means he can’t be blamed if something were to happen to Ulaz.

“I know you’re worried,” Commander Holt says gently, “and I need you to trust me that everything will be okay.”

Worried? Worried about Ulaz— Shiro’s chest gets tight. He’d told Commander Holt that he was worried about Ulaz dying _in_ surgery, during a cruel vivisection, and as further payback for attacking Sendak. Commander Holt assured him that wouldn’t happen…

Because Commander Holt is going to make sure Ulaz is dead before the surgery.

Shiro takes a step back, “No!”

“Takashi,” Commander Holt says slowly, “the less we say the better. I don’t want you involved in this. I never wanted you involved in this.”

“You can’t hurt him,” Shiro insists.

“It’s gotten personal for Iverson and the Garrison— it’s been personal to Zarkon and his crew from the beginning. You and I both know they’re going to torture that animal. You’re a good man, Takashi. Just do what I say, and keep your head down. The less you know, the better.”

“His name is Ulaz!” Shiro shouts. And in the silence, realizes what he’s just done.

Commander Holt narrows his eyes, “Pardon?”

Ulaz’s face— his terrified eyes pleading with Shiro to save him, as Shiro had to console him that he’d been chained to a table with no hope of release— flashes in Shiro’s mind. Shiro is his only hope. Shiro’s the only one who wants him alive.

Once upon a time, Shiro knew that Commander Holt was a good man.

“What did you say?” Commander Holt asks again, “you named it?”

Shiro takes a shaky breath, “Him. His name is Ulaz.”

“Takashi,” Commander Holt sighs wearily, “it’s not a dog—”

“He’s my friend,” Shiro says, and keeps his chin up. He can’t shy away from Commander Holt now. He can’t think about their past. All that matters is Ulaz. His hand is shaking.

“Sir,” Shiro continues, “we can’t let him die.”

“We’ve learned all we can from the Asset. The dissection is going to be a monumental, historic event. All we can do is make sure it’s humane,” Commander Holt says.

“No,” Shiro shakes his head, “it’s wrong. I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Takashi,” Commander Holt groans, “what’s gotten into you?”

“He’s not— Ulaz isn’t what you think,” Shiro says. His stomach twists into knots. He’s giving away the secret. He’s giving Ulaz up, to help him.

“Come with me,” Shiro insists.

“I can’t be here,” Commander Holt stresses, “if they see us collaborating, there’s fallout for—”

“Just _come_ ,” Shiro orders.

He marches back to the open bay doors, glancing behind to make sure Commander Holt is following him.

Ulaz lifts his head when he sees Shiro, but before he says anything, he spots Commander Holt. Ulaz’s ears flatten against his skull and his lips draw back to reveal his blue gums and sharp, white teeth. He hisses a warning so loud that it shakes his entire body.

“See how they left him?” Shiro says, and gestures to Ulaz.

Commander Holt looks sick, “It’s cruel, how the Asset has been treated. But it’s over now.”

“It’s not,” Shiro insists.

Ulaz roars. The crest of fur on his head has fluffed up. There’s a banging sound as his thin tail thrashes.

“Ulaz,” Shiro calls, and moves forwards, “it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Ulaz doesn’t take his eyes off of Commander Holt, who is staying far back.

“Takashi leave it alone!” Commander Holt calls.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says again, and he crosses the caution line, “shh. I’m here.”

Ulaz glances at him, and he’s shaking.

The first thing Shiro does is take off his jacket to cover Ulaz up again.

“What are you doing?” Commander Holt demands. He’s gotten closer.

Ulaz screams in his direction. Shiro wonders just how many times Commander Holt has seen Ulaz hurt, or afraid, and hasn’t done anything to comfort him. Or stop it.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, and he walks around to Ulaz’s head.

“Takashi!” Commander Holt shouts worriedly, “stop!” He breaks into a run, to stop Shiro from getting mauled.

Shiro holds out his hand, “Stop,” he orders. Commander Holt stops in surprise. Ulaz’s ears come up, and he looks up to Shiro’s hand, and then back to Commander Holt. He hisses again.

“He’s scared, he’s angry and he’s hurt,” Shiro says, “but he’s not an animal.”

Shiro bends down to touch his forehead to Ulaz’s. It puts him in range of Ulaz’s teeth, of being bitten.

Ulaz flinches when he spots Shiro in the corner of his eye, but then his growling stops and he turns his face up to nuzzle Shiro back. Ulaz lifts his chin to tilt his head back, and their noses touch. Shiro makes sure to hold the position long enough to show that Ulaz could hurt him at any second. And this always seems to help calm Ulaz down.

When Shiro stands up, Commander Holt is staring at him with a slack jaw.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, getting Ulaz’s attention. He moves to Ulaz’s side, so Ulaz can see him easily, and he points to Commander Holt, “this is…”

Commander Holt is too much for Ulaz to learn. Shiro hates being so informal, but he wants to show how intelligent Ulaz is.

“This is Sam,” Shiro finishes. He hasn’t called Commander Holt by his first name since before the accident.

Sam doesn’t move, though his brow furrows with confusion, “Takashi what is—”

“Sss-aam,” Shiro repeats again, slowly. He points to himself, “Shiro,” and then to Ulaz, “Ulaz.”

He wills Ulaz to understand.

“Why does it respond to you?” Sam asks.

“Sshh,” Shiro shushes him, and turns back to Ulaz.

“Sss-aam,” Shiro repeats again.

“Shiro,” Ulaz whispers. It sounds like a plea.

“Did it— was that your name?” Sam asks. Shiro hears him move, and Ulaz’s gaze goes back to him and he shrieks a loud warning.

“Stand back,” Shiro says.

Ulaz settles when Sam takes a large step back.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says again, “Sss-aam.”

Ulaz presses his ears to his head. He’s upset. Maybe he doesn’t want Sam to know about him. He’s been so careful until now.

“Yes,” Shiro says, nodding for emphasis. There’s so much more he wants to say, that he wishes he could say. But they only have so many words they can use between them.

Ulaz looks away, and Shiro feels the dismissal.

Shiro turns back to Commander Holt. He should feel humiliated that he just ordered around his superior— the man whose life and family he nearly ruined— and has nothing to show for it. Instead, Shiro feels furious.

“Why doesn’t he want to talk to you?” Shiro asks, “how many times were you here when they tortured him?”

“It was never torture,” Sam insists.

“How many?” Shiro shouts.

Sam looks like he sucked on something sour, “The electric prods were to keep him under control, from hurting anyone. But people would get carried away. It’s all so new, Takashi. I did what I could to keep people in line, but I couldn’t be down here protecting it all the time!”

“You watched and you let it happen,” Shiro says, “no wonder he hates you.”

“I didn’t have a choice! It was too easy to get kicked off the project,” Sam argues, “and without me, they would have done worse!”

“They’ve done worse!” Shiro points back to Ulaz, “he’s been _tortured_! They shock him until he faints! They barely feed him! They don’t even give him clothes!”

Sam looks anywhere but at Ulaz, “Animals don’t need—”

“He’s not an animal!” Shiro cries, “and if anyone in this fucking building would have just been kind to him, you might have realized it!”

Shiro’s voice echoes in the room. Sam doesn’t have anything to say.

“I trusted you,” Shiro says, “and I idolized you. But for the first time I think I’m thankful for fucking my life up. Because if I hadn’t, I might be in your shoes.”

“Takashi what do you want from me?” Sam asks quietly.

Shiro breathes heavy. His heart is pounding. Yelling at Sam isn’t going to make him more likely to help. Why was Shiro so stupid?

“I need your help,” Shiro says, “I have to save Ulaz. He can’t stay here.”

Sam sighs wearily, “That’s not something—”

“Shiro,” Ulaz calls.

Sam’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates. Shiro turns back to the alien.

“Ulaz?” he asks.

Ulaz takes in a loud breath, “Shiro,” he announces, and then, “Shhahm.”

Shiro feels a smile spread on his face, “Yes! Yes! Sss-am.”

“Sssohm,” Ulaz tries again.

Shiro repeats Sam’s name once more.

“Sam,” Ulaz barks out, “Sam. Sam.”

Shiro could hug him right now. In fact, he should be feeding Ulaz still.

“My bag,” Shiro says to Sam, “the dark one— yeah, pass that over.”

Sam moves carefully, in a daze, and Ulaz growls as Sam approaches Shiro.

“Takashi,” Sam whispers in astonishment, “he just—”

“Sam,” Shiro says, “meet Ulaz.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to everyone reading and supporting this story!

Shiro walks into his home and realizes he isn’t going to see it again.

He’d barely been able to tear himself away from Ulaz. There was no way to communicate that he and Sam had a plan, that Ulaz just had to hold out one more day. Shiro listened to Ulaz’s  whimpers and cries the entire walk to the elevator.

He feels sick to his stomach. He’s exhausted— he barely slept yesterday, but there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep today. It’s madness, what Shiro’s going to do. What he’s forcing Sam to do. Going against the Garrison is nothing short of treason. They won’t stop hunting for Ulaz, ever.

Shiro will worry about that when he gets Ulaz out of the basement levels. Once Ulaz is free, then they will start running.

Shiro jumps into the shower to help wake himself up. He runs through the list of things he needs: bolt cutters for Ulaz’s chains, a way to get Ulaz off the base. They need a place to hide, and a way to get out of the city. They need somewhere to _go_ when they’re out of the city.

Sam said he was going to get in touch. He’d left a little after midnight, and promised to contact Shiro in the morning.

When Shiro gets out of the shower he doesn’t have any new messages on his phone. What if Sam’s been found out? What if the dissection got moved up?

He’s about to be sick with fear when there’s a knock at his door. It must be Sam.

Shiro hurries to the door, barely pulling on a shirt in time. He’ll put his prosthetic on later. He slides the locks on the door, and opens it quickly.

It’s not Sam. Shiro looks down.

“Long time no see,” Matthew Holt says.

Shiro has half a mind to close the door. No. No. His heart rate picks up, a startled creature desperate to escape the cage of his ribs. He can’t breathe. He can’t even think beyond: No! No! Anyone but him!

Shiro’s last memories of Matt are when Shiro had snuck out of his room in the hospital for a walk, and overheard Matt crying in the night. Crying because while he put up a brave face for his family, his entire life was ruined because of Shiro.

“Are you gonna let me in?” Matt asks.

Shiro’s still in shock, and can’t think of how to say no. So he steps back, and lets Matt wheel himself into Shiro’s apartment. Shiro closes the door gently, with a soft _click_ , and slides the deadbolt into place. It’s just him and Matt. Alone.

“Nice place,” Matt comments.

Shiro’s grateful enough that he’s not home enough anymore to make a mess, and that Keith has taken to cleaning up. Before he’d gone back to work the apartment had been a disaster of clothes and take-out containers and dishes lying everywhere from Shiro’s cycles of debilitating depression. Matt wouldn’t have been able to move his chair around at all. Even clean, though, Shiro’s apartment isn’t anything big, nor was it designed to be wheelchair-accessible.

Shiro doesn’t move from the door, and so Matt cranes his neck to glance back at Shiro over his shoulder.

“Why are you so quiet?” Matt asks, “aren’t you happy to see me?”

Shiro looks anywhere but at Matt. What a stupid question. What is he supposed to say? ‘Hi I haven’t seen you since I paralyzed you and ruined your life, sorry if I’m a little nervous.’

“You _should_ be happy,” Matt says, “cause I’m here to help.”

“Sam told you,” Shiro realizes, speaking out loud.

“Of course he told me,” Matt scoffs, and makes his way to the table. He’s got a bag slung over the back of his chair, and he pulls it off to start taking some paper out of it.

“Dad told us the day the Kerberos crew touched down,” Matt says, “well, first he told us that there was an alien and made us swear to stay quiet. And then last night he told us a little bit about you.”

Shiro moves slowly. He feels like he’s underwater, or walking through fog. Moving too fast will disturb the scene in front of him.

“So you… you’re gonna help?” Shiro asks.

“I work from home a lot,” Matt says, “so it made more sense for me to come here than Dad. That would be too suspicious. Besides, between Dad and I, I think I have more of an inkling to being a criminal mastermind.”

Shiro finally slides into the chair across the table from Matt. He’s waiting for the shoe to drop. Matt can’t just pick up like this. He’s hiding his resentment. As long as Shiro doesn’t upset him, then, maybe they can get through a few hours together.

It’s for Ulaz, he reminds himself. Ulaz is going to die if Shiro can’t keep his shit together.

Matt slaps some papers down on the table, startling Shiro.

“Okay, so!” Matt shouts, a little louder then necessary, “Dad woke me up at like 3 in the morning and I have _not_ slept since. I am on so much coffee— and actually you should put more on or I’m going to die— but! The point of this is that I have a plan. I don’t know if it’s a good plan, but it might be the only plan and if you’re crazy enough to want to bust an alien out of the Garrison, then it’s probably your best plan. Unless you have a plan?”

“I…” Shiro’s head is spinning while he tries to make Matt’s words coherent to himself, “I’m going to make coffee.”

Matt shuffles his papers around while Shiro empties the coffeepot. He doesn’t actually know when the last cup was made. He scoops the grinds into the machine and pours in the water and hopes that it comes out alright.

The coffee starts dripping into the pot. Shiro waits by it and goes to cross his arms across his chest. He remembers that his prosthesis is still in the bathroom, and he doesn’t like crossing with only one arm, so he drops his hand to his side again.

“Did you get taller?” Matt jokes.

Shiro doesn’t know how to answer that, “No?” he guesses.

“You used to have a good sense of humor,” Matt says sharply, “what happened?”

Shiro flinches, “I don’t— sorry. Didn’t know that was a joke.”

Matt squints at him, and shrugs, “Fair. It was kinda morbid. You didn’t get taller, I just got shorter. Who knew that was possible?”

Shiro’s hand starts shaking and he clenches it into a fist to try and stop it. He can feel his heart pounding, and the light-headed sensation that starts at the onset of a panic attack. No, he can’t do this. Not now. Not when Ulaz needs him.

“The plan?” Shiro chokes out. He fetches two mugs for coffee. The pot isn’t done but he needs to do something to distract himself.

Matt goes back to his papers, “We can play by ear on a few things— which is probably the worst way to do it— but if you can get the Asset out of the basement, then Katie can hack the cameras on the upper floors, and her boyfriend can smuggle you out.”

“His name is Ulaz,” Shiro says automatically as he sets Matt’s mug in front of him.

“No, it’s Lance,” Matt retorts, pauses, and then looks up from his papers, “oh. You mean the alien.”

Shiro goes back to grab his coffee off the counter. He can’t carry two mugs with one hand yet, “Katie… has a boyfriend?”

Matt snorts, “Yeah, we were all expecting a girlfriend. To be fair, if you say he’s her boyfriend she’ll tell you he’s not. But he is.”

Shiro furrows his brow as he thinks on that.

“We can just tell,” Matt explains, “with the way they are together. You just _know_ when people are into each other, even if they pretend it’s not happening.”

Shiro feels like this tentative peace between them is a moon out of orbit. It’s only a matter of time before it burns up in the atmosphere.

“You have a plan?” he asks again.

Matt nods, and sips at his coffee. He taps the papers in front of him, “So, like I said. You’re going to have to be the one to get the Asset— wait, what did you say his name was? Oolong?”

“Ulaz,” Shiro says softly.

“Right, Ulaz,” Matt says, “you have to get Ulaz out of the basement. Katie can divert cameras— she’s working on a program right now— but getting past people—”

“The janitors elevators,” Shiro realizes, “I’ll get Ulaz into a hamper. He’ll hide, and then I can walk him anywhere.”

Matt’s eyes widen in delight, “That’s insane! You can make him do that?”

“I don’t make him do anything,” Shiro shrugs, “I just ask.”

“I can’t believe you can communicate with an alien,” Matt gushes, “Dad said it wouldn’t respond to anyone. Why you?”

Shiro frowns into his coffee. Does he say the truth? Because everyone else would rather _torture_ Ulaz than treat him with any kindness? Including Matt’s father.

Matt can’t handle the silence so he presses on, “You realize that helping it is going to change everything, right? You’re going to have to run, like, forever.”

“It has to be done,” Shiro confirms.

Matt nods solemly, “Okay, good. Just checking. By the way, Dad said you were kissing the alien—” Shiro nearly spits his coffee, “is that why it likes you?”

“It’s not kissing!” Shiro stammers, “Ulaz just likes contact!”

“With your face,” Matt grins so wide his face might split in half, “do you have the hots for the alien?”

“No!” Shiro shouts. Matt laughs out loud. And keeps laughing.

Shiro gets up to grab the coffee pot to top them both up.

“Okay, okay, glad to clear that up,” Matt wipes an imaginary tear out of his eye, “so, you get Ulaz upstairs. Late-night deliveries are made at specific times. Lance is just changing his schedule up and he’ll let us know when he’ll be driving.”

“Katie’s boyfriend is a cargo guy?” Shiro asks.

“Part-time,” Matt says, “helps pay for classes. He’s trying to be a fighter pilot.”

“It’s a lot to risk to help us,” Shiro notes, “can we trust him?”

“Well A) my sister has excellent taste in good people. So yes. And B) of course Lance is going to help you.”

Shiro sits back, confused, “But I’ve never met him?”

“You’re his hero!” Matt says, astonished, “how do you not get that?”

“His…” Shiro trails off, thinking. What could he have done that anyone would want him to be their hero?

“For Kerberos. Your simulator scores,” Matt reminds him, “did you… I heard you had some damage. Did that—”

“I remember them,” Shiro says, “but I… I shouldn’t be anyone’s hero. Not anymore.”

“Why not? You’re still the youngest pilot to _ever_ have those kinds of scores. Not to mention so young to be so accomplished. What’s not to idolize?”

“I crashed,” Shiro snaps, “I crashed and ruined everything.”

Matt blinks owlishly in the ensuing silence. Shiro’s fight-or-flight instincts kick in and he can feel his blood rushing under his skin. He has to run, to get out of here. He’s exposed himself, like a nerve, and left himself open for Matt to inflict some serious pain on him.

Shiro doesn’t move. He’s been running from this for years. He deserves this.

“Things were tough,” Matt agrees, “and, yeah, different now, but I don’t think _ruin_ is the right—”

“Fucked up, then,” Shiro offers, bitterness like battery acid burning in his throat, “destroyed. My life, yours, your dad’s, your family’s. The Garrison’s plans. I did it all.”

Matt stares at him, seeing Shiro and looking right through him at the same time. His eyes dart back and forth as he thinks. He’s piecing together the puzzle of all the ways Shiro tainted everyone near him.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Matt declares.

Shiro sits back in confusion.

“Is that— you _asshole_ — is that why you stopped talking to us? Is that why you— why you left? Because you think it was your fault? Shiro what the hell?” Matt leans forwards on his arms, nearly pulling himself out of his chair.

Shiro shakes his head, “It’s true! I just… I know I fucked up, and I was avoiding this, but you can say the truth.”

“It was an accident!” Matt shouts, “a freak accident! You didn’t crash on purpose!”

“But I was the pilot! I was responsible!” Shiro defends himself, “and now you’re in a wheelchair! Keith can’t talk— I lost an arm! We’ll never go to space!”

Matt slumps back in his chair and pushes his hair out of his face. His eyes are wet, “Shiro holy shit. Holy _shit_! You think it was your fault? Do you— do you think we blamed you?”

Shiro looks away. He can’t bring himself to say it.

“Oh my god,” Matt groans, “I— we thought you were being you. Needing to hole up, lick your wounds in private. And then you just… god, Mom was so sad when you wouldn’t return her calls. I can’t believe you spent all this time thinking that way!”

“You… you don’t hate me?” Shiro presses. His voice trembles.

“You moron!” Matt snaps, “you’re _family_! Is— you thought I hated you? That _we_ hated you? Why the fuck would Dad and I be helping you if we hated you? That’s why you’ve been so weird today? I thought it was brain damage!”

Shiro’s shaking, and he has to try and breathe around the hitch in his breath, a dam threatening to break, “I just thought you were being good people—”

Matt shoves back, pushing his chair away from the table, “Get over here.”

Shiro hesitates a moment. He still can’t believe this is happening, that this is real. Could he have been so wrong? Can people be that forgiving?

“Shiro?” Matt pleads.

Shiro knocks over his chair as he moves forwards, and Matt pulls him into a hug so tight that Shiro loses his balance and falls into Matt’s lap. He’s crying, he thinks Matt is crying.

“You’re such an idiot,” Matt mumbles, “we missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro repeats.

There’s work to be done. Shiro has to figure out how he’s going to keep himself and Ulaz alive. If he’ll be having any contact with anyone once he’s on the run. So many things, but he can’t pull himself away from Matt.

Not until they’re interrupted by tapping at the window. Matt sits up straight, and Shiro has to get his balance on his knees.

Keith is sitting on the fire escape, tapping on the window, and peering in. He opens the window Shiro left unlocked slowly, eyes wide and clearly wondering ‘ _am I interrupting something?_ _’_.

Shiro hasn’t seen Keith since the first night he met Ulaz. So much has changed. He should really tell Keith to go, so he doesn’t get involved.

“Long time no see,” Matt says, “are you here to save the alien?”

So much for that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Star Wars Day! May the 4th be with you ;))

Keith shows a surprising amount of self-restraint as Shiro and Matt fill him in. He keeps his arms crossed across his chest, nods along, and doesn’t interrupt them until they’re done.

“You don’t have to be involved,” Shiro says, “the less you know the better, really.”

Keith stares Shiro down, and then raises his right hand, middle finger extended, at him.

The action is followed up as Keith taps the papers Matt brought and looks at them both expectantly. _Where can I help_?

“Shiro’s apartment is going to get raided immediately,” Matt notes, “and they’ll be tracking your bank account. Katie can wire it up to get your money out— really, if anyone is the supervillain in this family, it’s probably her. So Lance can drop you off somewhere in the city, but from there I don’t know how to get you out of town. Even if we bought a car, in cash, that’ll be tracked pretty quickly—”

Keith taps his hand on the table excitedly, and jumps up to get to his phone that’s tucked into his back pocket. He starts typing quickly.

“You have an idea?” Matt guesses.

Keith waits a moment, and then his phone buzzes as he gets an answering text. He walks into the kitchen to grab a piece of Shiro’s mail, takes a picture of the address, and then sends it off.

Keith comes back to them and taps his wrist, and then holds up 5 fingers. _Five minutes_.

“Oh!” Shiro remembers, “look into a guy named Coran. Your dad met him. I talked to him yesterday— he didn’t like the idea of Ulaz getting killed either. He might be someone we can trust.”

“We can’t trust anyone,” Matt groans, “that’s what’s going to be so hard about this. But will do.”

“If we can just keep Ulaz alive, and away from the Garrison,” Shiro insists, “that’s the goal.”

Matt nods, “We get you two out of town. And I think you should go to my moms family cabin. My Grammy and Grampy were naturalist weirdos and built it, but it means the whole thing is off-grid. And it’s under mom’s name, so the Garrison can’t connect it to dad. It’s in the middle of nowhere too, so you should be able to hide there for a while.”

“Okay,” Shiro agrees, “I’ll need a map.”

“You’ll have to ditch your phone,” Matt says, “and we’ll need to get you packed for the road.”

Someone knocks at the door. Matt and Shiro freeze. Keith hops up to answer it.

He stands up on his toes to peer through the peephole, and then opens the door. In steps a tall man— young, from the look of him. He’s broad in the shoulders, heavyset, sweaty, and out of breath. His hair is tied back with a bright headband, and he looks only at Keith as he walks in.

“You said it was an emergency,” the man pants. Shiro realizes this means the stranger _ran_ the entire way here.

Keith is smiling at that. Shiro hasn’t seen Keith smile in so long that he’d forgotten what it looked like. Keith takes the stranger’s hand in his and pulls him into Shiro’s apartment, gesturing at Matt and Shiro to introduce themselves.

“Oh my gosh,” the man gasps, “y-you’re him! You’re Shiro! Keith you should have warned me that I was going to meet _him_!”

“Keith,” Shiro says slowly, “are you sure?”

Keith nods firmly. He hasn’t let go of the man’s hand.

Shiro turns back to the stranger, “Uh, yeah. Hi. I’m Shiro. This is Matt. You are?”

“Hunk,” he says, and holds out his hand for Shiro to shake. Keith is holding his right hand, so Hunk is actually offering his left. It might be because Hunk is panicking about meeting Shiro, or feeling nervous, but maybe it’s intentional, and the thought of that endears him to Shiro almost immediately.

Shiro shakes Hunk’s hand with his left hand.

“Did Keith say anything?” Matt asks.

“Well,” Hunk laughs, “obviously not. But, um, he just texted that there was an emergency. And you need my van?”

Keith pulls his phone out again and types something onto it. Hunk pauses while he types, giving Keith time to write his words out. Keith holds his phone out for Hunk to read.

“You need to get out of town tomorrow? I’m, uh, yeah. I’m going to a conference tomorrow. Out of town. I could drive you. But why is this an emergency?”

“Because Shiro’s going to be the Garrison’s most wanted tomorrow,” Matt says.

Hunk’s eyes go wide, “This is— are you doing something illegal?” he looks at Keith in exasperation, “I thought you were done with this!”

Keith pouts, and points to Shiro.

“It’s about the Kerberos Mission,” Shiro explains, taking his cue, “they… they brought back an alien. Alive. And they’ve been holding him hostage and hurting him ever since.”

“You’re kidding me,” Hunk says flatly.

“His name is Ulaz, and if I don’t get him out of there, they’re going to kill and dissect him tomorrow,” Shiro says.

Hunk scrubs his face with his free hand, and glances to Keith, “This is not what I was expecting when I got Keith’s text.”

“What were you expecting?” Matt asks curiously.

Hunk’s face goes red, “Well, uh, something a little less insane. More private.”

Keith nudges Hunk with his elbow. Hunk smiles at him, and Keith smiles back fondly.

Hunk lets out a long sigh, “If Keith thinks this is right, and, I mean, if _you_ think this is the right thing to do, then I’m in. How do we want to do this?”

“When were you leaving?” Matt asks.

“Well, early. I was going to try and get out before traffic, so, uh, before eight,” Hunk shrugs.

“If we give you a location, could you do earlier?” Matt asks, "say, right before sunrise? Five?"

Hunk nods, and then grimaces, “Look, guys, I really want to be involved in this but I have to get back to work.”

“You left work for this?” Matt asks.

“For Keith,” Hunk clarifies, “’cause he said it was an emergency. And it’s usually pretty quiet in the morning, but I’m the only one watching the shop until after lunch. I put up the ‘out for lunch’ sign, but it’s kinda early for that.”

Keith stands up on his tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to Hunk’s cheek. Hunk physically melts at the action.

“Keep me updated,” Hunk tells Keith, “and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Oh man Lance is gonna lose it when he hears I met Shiro— wait, can I even mention that I met Shiro?”

“Wait,” Matt pauses, “did you say Lance? Like, Lance McClain?”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “he’s my roommate.”

Matt bursts into laughter, “Holy shit!” he shouts, “you’re kidding me! So, wait, _you_ _’re_ the engineer who ditched the garrison to be a florist? Lance never shuts up about you.”

Hunk looks confused for only a moment, before it clicks, “Oh my god you’re Katie’s brother.”

“How many Garrison people do you know that are in a wheelchair?” Matt ribs him.

Keith shoots Shiro a confused look.

“Small world,” Shiro explains.

“You can talk to Lance. He’s smuggling Shiro and Ulaz out tonight, so, actually, you two need to figure out your alibi’s,” Matt says, “bottom line is: if you go down, you’re on your own.”

Keith frowns and glares at Matt.

“I get it,” Hunk says, “I knew the Garrison was shady, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

“Is that why you left?” Shiro asks. He thinks he did hear something about a genius of an engineer who declined all work offers and snubbed the Garrison for civilian life. But it was so long ago it feels like it was in another lifetime.

“Yeah,” Hunk says, “all they wanted was for me to make weapons. I didn’t feel comfortable with that. So I found something that made me happy, and it was the best choice I ever made.”

“Keith loved the flowers,” Shiro says, and doesn’t know exactly why he’s saying it, but this might be the only chance he gets to really say anything to someone Keith cares about, “he was showing them off to me. So, thanks for making him happy.”

“Trust me, it’s usually the other way around,” Hunk laughs, and then seems to remember himself, “shit, sorry, I really have to go. I’ll see you later,” he says to Keith, and bends down to kiss him on the cheek. Keith’s cheeks light up with a red flush.

Hunk gives an awkward half-salute-half-wave to Matt and Shiro, and then he’s running out the door.

 

* * *

 

The three of them are snacking on some food that Keith cooked up. Matt finishes his call with Katie, and sets his phone on the table.

“Okay, motel room is booked. Katie made sure they don’t have any video security, and Keith and I will go pick up the keys today and get them to Lance so you don’t have to check in,” Matt announces.

Shiro nods.

Keith taps at the papers— now covered in _all_ of their writing— and looks to Shiro.

“Keith we’ve been over this,” Shiro sighs.

“Keith’s right. Do it again, big guy,” Matt says.

Shiro sets his fork down. He barely has an appetite anyways, “What if it doesn’t work?”

“You’ve assembled what might be the best last-second committing-treason team I’ve ever seen,” Matt shrugs.

“Everything is so unplanned,” Shiro insists, “I haven’t— I barely know some of the people involved! How can we even think this is going to work?”

“It’s a fucking long shot,” Matt agrees, “and it would be a lot easier to just call it off.”

Shiro’s stomach revolts at the idea.

Matt gestures at Shiro’s expression, “But obviously we can’t.”

“Just because I say so?” Shiro says, “no one else has met Ulaz. How can you just trust me like that?”

Keith leans over and slaps his open palm on Shiro’s chest. It almost winds him. Shiro doubles over with a surprised cough, and looks up at Keith in exasperation.

“I agree,” Matt says, “this is insane to be doing this based off of one guy’s feelings— except that it’s you.”

“Why?” Shiro demands, “why me?”

Matt shrugs, and looks at Keith. Keith rolls his eyes and mimes talking with his hand.

“I am _not_ a blabbermouth,” Matt mutters, and he leans back in his chair as he talks, “Shiro, you’re the kinda guy that people trust. When you say go, people are gonna follow.”

Shiro snorts, “I used to be.”

“You still are,” Matt says, just as Keith punches Shiro in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Shiro flinches. Keith hits him again, just for that.

“Look, obviously there’s a lot going on with you that we didn’t know about, but despite all the shitty stuff you think— you’re the kinda guy that makes everyone want to be better. I mean, if we were a tv show, you’d be the hero guy.”

“This isn’t tv, Matt. This is real life,” Shiro reminds him, “and if this goes south, we’re all in shit.”

“And like you said: if we don’t try, then tomorrow Ulaz is going to die, and humanity’s first contact with aliens is going to be a pretty dark chapter in our history,” Matt reminds him.

“He’s not going to die,” Shiro repeats to himself.

Keith leans in to tap Shiro’s shoulder, and once he has Shiro’s attention he starts signing quickly.

“I’m not advanced enough to follow this,” Matt announces.

Shiro sighs and lets his shoulders drop as Keith finishes talking, “He’s worried about after we get Ulaz out. Because it’s going to be just me and Ulaz at the motel, and then on the road.”

“It’s a valid point,” Matt says, “maybe you should drug him.”

“I’m _not_ like the Garrison,” Shiro snaps.

“For your own safety Shiro! He’s nice enough to you when he’s in chains, but when he’s free, who knows what he might do. He might hurt you just because he’s freaking out about _not_ being tied up anymore,” Matt points out. Keith gives him a thumbs up.

“I trust him,” Shiro announces, “I trust Ulaz. He won’t hurt me.”

“I hope you’re right,” Matt says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hunk was expecting a sex-related "emergency" lmao)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commence Heist!!!!
> 
> Warnings for some violence, and casual ableist language (especially from Shiro)

Shiro feels oddly calm as he goes to work. It’s almost as if he’s walking through a dream. The noises fade away, the faces slip out of his mind as soon as he passes. Part of it is fatigue— he hasn’t slept well in days, and only managed a few hours after he, Matt and Keith had finished planning. And the other part of it is focus. He has a job, a mission. Shiro’s always been at his best when he has a goal.

It’s strange, he thinks. He feels like he should be nervous. Or sad. He’ll never come back to the Garrison again, not as a part of it, anyways. He’s wanted to be here since before he can remember. It was always his life’s dream to be a space-faring pilot. He’d lost that already, and thought he’d found second-best at being allowed to work at the Garrison, to stay close enough to his dream. But he feels completely calm. For the first time since the accident, Shiro feels like maybe it wasn’t a mistake that he survived.

Rolo gives Shiro a smile and a wink. Shiro barely notices him. The rest of the night crew have gotten used to Shiro being quiet, and they don’t try talking to him anymore. Shiro’s struck by the stray thought that Rolo’s proposition might have been his last chance at sex, let alone a relationship. After tonight he’ll be considered a criminal. He has no idea what his future has in store for him.

 _It_ _’s worth it_ , he promises himself, and waits for the elevator doors to close.

The floor is buzzing with activity. It’s the last night before the dissection. Haggar is there, so is Zarkon and Haxus. Iverson and Sam too. Shiro stares at them and feels a cold sense of detachment. He idolized all of these people— for what? How could he have been so blind?

He turns away, to avoid conversation, and walks down the halls away from the open bay. He wills Ulaz to hold on for just a few more hours.

 

* * *

 

The night crawls by. The floor stays busy late into the night, later than even Shiro’s seen anyone be here. He starts to get nervous. They have a short time frame for him to get Ulaz out.

On schedule Shiro heads up to get the cleaning trolley. The bay seems quiet now. Everyone might have gone home for the night, finally.

Shiro collects towels and cloths, throwing them into the trash bin on the trolley. Anything that will help conceal Ulaz. He brings a mop, for appearances. Other staff pass him, give him a friendly smile. Shiro keeps his composure.

It’s all on him. Ulaz’s survival depends on him.

The ride down, in the other elevator, feels agonizingly long. When the doors finally open, Shiro pushes the trolley out into silence. The wheels on the floor tiling make such a loud racket that Shiro expects people to come looking for the source of the sound.

He approaches 4-17, swipes his card for access, and waits while the doors open.

The lights are off. Shiro’s shoulders sag with relief. He’s alone.

Shiro turns on the lights as he enters, just enough to see by. Ulaz is still strapped to the table. Shiro wonders if he’s been let up in the last 24 hours, and feels like he knows the answer. Ulaz doesn’t stir when Shiro approaches.

“Ulaz?” Shiro asks worriedly.

His ear flickers. Ulaz rolls his head to the side with a groan. His yellow eyes flash in the dark.

“Shiro?” Ulaz whispers.

Shiro moves forwards to bend over Ulaz, pressing their foreheads together. Ulaz leans up into the touch with a happy sound.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Shiro says.

He steps back and goes to the other side of the room. Sam hid the keys to Ulaz’s chains for him, and had been able to tell Shiro where they were during one of Shiro’s laps.

Ulaz cranes his neck when he hears the sound of the keys jingling.

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks.

“Shh,” Shiro puts a finger to his lips, “Ulaz, shh.”

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks again, “Shiro? Shiro?”

Shiro starts at Ulaz’s feet, unlocking the first cuff around his ankle. His heart starts to race. It’s happening. This is happening.

Ulaz suddenly goes silent. Shiro pauses, watching him for a reaction. He’s betting everything that Ulaz will be cooperative, that Ulaz won’t attack him once he’s no longer chained.

Slowly, cautiously, Ulaz lifts his leg. His foot raises, and the shackle and chain clatter as they’re knocked off the tables surface. Ulaz points his foot in the air, in shock at the lack of restraints.

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks again.

“Shh,” Shiro hushes him. He moves to Ulaz’s other foot.

The lock opens, and the shackle falls away. Ulaz starts shaking.

“Shiro?” he whispers, and he moves his wrists, telling Shiro to move faster. Ulaz’s tail starts flipping back and forth in excitement.

Shiro has to try a few times to get the right key for the lock. Ulaz whimpers, head turned and eyes straining to watch Shiro’s hands. His ears are pointed forwards, focused completely on Shiro. The shackle springs free and Ulaz’s hand flies up. Shirio jumps back, startled, and Ulaz goes to get his other hand. The restraint on his neck stops him, and he starts clawing at his throat. He yells, furstrated.

Shiro recovers from his scare, “Shh, hold on!”

He kneels down behind Ulaz, fighting with the keys to get the right one. Ulaz thrashes on the table, shouting all sorts of wordless emotions. Shiro finally gets the right key, and unlocks him.

Ulaz sits up with a cry that sounds more like a sob than delight. Shiro stands up to unlock Ulaz’s other hand.

Shiro’s blinded, and stops to cover his eyes, when the lights go on.

His stomach drops as he lowers his arm and blinks his eyes open. Standing in the doorway to the bay, a looming, imposing figure even taller than Shiro, is Commander Zarkon.

“Shirogane,” Zarkon says slowly, but loudly. Shiro feels like his heart stops in terror, “there had better be a good reason—”

He’s cut off when Ulaz bares his teeth and shrieks at him so loudly that Shiro’s bones rattle. Zarkon takes a frightened step back, then steels himself, and rushes into the room. He goes for the cattle prods on the wall.

“Shit!” Shiro shouts. He dives for the last shackle on Ulaz. If Zarkon knocks Ulaz out, Shiro won’t be able to move him. They’ll have to abandon the trolley and run for it. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Zarkon clears the room in seconds, while Shiro fumbles for the right key. The lack of dexterity in his right hand makes it more difficult, and he keeps glancing up to see where Zarkon is. Ulaz won’t stop screaming. His fur is fluffed up, fangs barred, and ears pointed backwards in aggression.

Zarkon’s running for them now, he’s got the weapon. Shiro can’t find the right key.

“Shit!” Shiro shouts again.

Shiro lunges around the table Ulaz is restrained on, catching Zarkon mid-stride, and tackles him to the floor. The keys fly out of Shiro’s grasp. He clamours for Zarkon’s hand holding the baton, tries to grab it with both hands. He has to disarm him! The move leaves Shiro wide open to a left hook that connects to his cheekbone. His head spins.

“Traitor!” Zarkon snarls.

“Liar!” Shiro accuses.

Shiro pins Zarkon’s arm with his own, but now he’s using his prosthetic to hold Zarkon’s wrist and the grip isn’t tight enough. Zarkon rears up, headbutting Shiro, and when Shiro sees stars he feels Zarkon get free of his fingers.

“Shiro!” Ulaz shouts.

Shiro’s been zapped before when he’s been changing outlets or working on an engine. It’s always quick, painful, but over in an instant.

The cattle prod is nothing like that. He feels the rod connect with his skin, just under his jawline as Zarkon swings, and then Shiro’s entire body goes taut as electricity races thought him. It hurts so much but he can’t even gather his own mind enough to conceive of the thought of pain. It’s hot, it’s burning, it’s _sharp_ , and it keeps going on. Ulaz shouts his name.

Shiro collapses in a heap when Zarkon pulls the prod away. He gasps for air. His heart feels like it’s not beating right, he feels like he got run over by a car. There’s smoke— his arm. His arm is smoking. The circuit’s fried. He can’t feel it.

“Who bought you?” Zarkon demands, and when Shiro sucks in a wheezing breath instead of answering, Zarkon kicks him in the ribs, “answer me!”

“Shiro!” Ulaz shouts.

Shiro’s rolled onto his back from the force of the hit. He’s sucking in air through his open mouth, barely able to hear the question. They did this to Ulaz _daily_ , he thinks. They hurt him like this. And no one ever told them to stop.

That makes Shiro furious.

“What kind of man are you?,” Zarkon growls, “that you’d betray your own people?”

Shiro glares up at him.

“What kind of man are _you_?” he snarls.

Zarkon brings the prod down again.

Shiro screams.

 

* * *

 

The pain stops. Shiro’s blind for a moment, and then all of his senses rush back in like floodwater.

He rolls to his side— there’s shouting, yelling.

Shiro looks up. Ulaz is standing before him, grappling with Zarkon for the baton in Zarkon’s hand. He saved Shiro’s life.

It’s a match of strength, but Ulaz is weakened from weeks, if not months, of starvation and captivity. Ulaz uses his height, bowling over Zarkon and taking the two of them to the floor. Ulaz lands on top, trying to take the advantage. Zarkon punches Ulaz hard, knocking him down. He kicks Ulaz in the stomach, sending the alien sprawling. Zarkon scrambles for the baton. It’s been knocked towards Shiro.

Shiro recovers and lunges. He snatches it just as Zarkon’s fingertips brush the metal.

Zarkon’s face goes white with fear.

Ulaz gets back to his knees, his crest of white hair is standing up like hackles raised, and his lips are drawn back to reveal blue gums and rows of sharp teeth. He hisses, a low growl rumbling out from his throat, and leaps forwards to pin Zarkon down. He flexes his claws.

“Shirogane!” Zarkon shouts, “do something!”

Shiro realizes he’s the one holding the prod. He’s the only one who can stop Ulaz.

Zarkon tries to get up but Ulaz leaps onto him, pinning him down with a broad hand, and raises his other hand high. His claws are so sharp. Ulaz had been able to take off most of Sendak’s face, even while restrained. Now that he’s free? Shiro has no idea of the carnage he’s capable of.

“Ulaz no!” Shiro shouts.

Ulaz looks up at him, furious, free and so full of wrath that Shiro wants to rage with him. But what Ulaz wants is wrong.

Ulaz gaze goes from Shiro’s face to the prod in Shiro’s hand.

It’s the only thing that will stop Ulaz, Shiro’s aware. But he doesn’t think he’d be able to use it. If he doesn’t use it, Ulaz could kill Zarkon. Can Shiro still help Ulaz if he’s a murderer?

Shiro throws it away.

“Shirogane!” Zarkon shouts.

Ulaz responds in an instant. He grabs Zarkon by the throat and slams his head onto the floor. It happens so quickly that Shiro can’t act fast enough.

Zarkon moans, stunned, as Ulaz hisses in his face. His tail lashes back and forth, and crouched over Zarkon, fur standing up and face twisted in a snarl, Ulaz looks every bit the animal that the Garrison thinks he is.

Did Shiro just unleash a monster.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, urgently, “don’t kill him.”

Zarkon is barely clinging to consciousness, and his throat is exposed as his head rolls to one side. Ulaz is still holding him around the throat. He’s cut into Zarkon’s skin with his claws.

Shiro drops to his knees beside them. Ulaz doesn’t look at him.

“Ulaz, please,” Shiro insists, “you can’t kill him.”

If Shiro interferes will Ulaz attack him? Shiro doesn’t know.

His right arm won’t respond to him. Shiro reaches forwards with his left, and touches Ulaz’s wrist.

Ulaz looks up at him. They’re face-to-face. Just like Sendak and Ulaz were before Ulaz mauled him.

“No,” Shiro says again, and shakes his head, “we’re not killers Ulaz. Don’t do this.”

A shudder goes through Ulaz’s body, and he looks from Shiro’s face down to Zarkon, helpless, beneath him. Ulaz’s tail twitches faster, aggravated. Shiro watches the muscles in Ulaz’s hand quiver.

“Ulaz,” Shiro urges.

A high-pitched whine tears out of Ulaz’s mouth, lowering in pitch until Ulaz pulls his hand away from Zarkon with an anguished yell of frustration. He crawls back, staying low on his hands and knees, and leaves Zarkon alive.

Shiro almost sags with relief.

“Thank you,” Shiro whispers.

“Shiro,” Ulaz whines, and looks at him.

It’s only now that Shiro realizes that Ulaz is still wearing one shackle on his wrist. Shiro hadn’t managed to free Ulaz before Zarkon attacked, how did—

Shiro looks at the table Ulaz was on. It’s been flipped on it’s side. The chain was broken off of the mooring. Ulaz broke free to save him.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, for lack of anything better to say. He moves to Ulaz, aching and sore, and reaches out to take Ulaz’s shackled wrist in his hands. He’s bleeding— he must have cut up his arm while breaking the chain.

“Thank you Ulaz,” Shiro says. They’re the only words he has to express his gratitude.

Ulaz brings up his other hand to cup Shiro’s face in his large palm. Shiro closes his eyes on reflex as Ulaz leans in to press their foreheads together. They stay like that, breathing together, as they calm down. Ulaz isn’t running, Shiro realizes. He’s free, but he knows to stay with Shiro. That Shiro will get him out. Ulaz trusts him, and that alone pulls something tight in Shiro’s chest and could bring him to tears if he lets it.

“Okay,” Shiro says, “okay. We have to go.”

 

* * *

 

They drag Zarkon into the kennel that Ulaz used to sleep in. For good measure, Shiro chains him up in Ulaz’s old shackles. He’ll be found in a few hours when the day staff come to prep for the dissection.

Ulaz is hesitant about hiding in the cleaning trolley, but Shiro lures him in with gentle words and a few chocolates. He seems to grasp the concept of needing to stay hidden, and makes sure to have a towel over his head to keep his long ears from sticking out.

And then they’re leaving the bay. Shiro has to force the fingers on his non-functioning right hand to close around the handle of the trolley, and then he’s thankful for all the straps holding his arm on so that he can push the trolley. He expects to run into guards, into someone who heard the fight or who _knows_ that Shiro’s doing this. They don’t see anyone. No one finds Zarkon.

Shiro doesn’t wait to celebrate their good luck.

He keeps his head down and doesn’t make eye contact as he moves through the Garrison. They have to get to the loading dock for a specfic time window. Katie will be looping the cameras so no one will see Ulaz get out of the trolley and into Lance’s vehicle.

Shiro’s watch was fried during the fight. He gets glimpses of the clocks on the walls as he moves through, but he can’t gauge how late he’s running. After all this, they can’t get caught now.

 

* * *

 

Shiro bursts into the loading dock, pushing the doors open with the trolley, and looks around frantically. Is he late? Was Lance forced to leave?

It’s empty. Shiro’s heart plummets. No, no. This can’t be happening.

A door opens to his left— the fire exit.

A young man sticks his head in. He’s got a ballcap pulled low over his face, and the hood of his jacket is up.

“Holy shit it’s you!” he hisses, “also- you’re late!”

 

* * *

 

Lance was forced to leave the loading bay to let other trucks come in to pick up their shipments. He’d parked outside around the corner, and in a panic, called Katie. Together they’d come up with a completely new timetable on the fly.

“We’re pretty good at this last-second kind of stuff,” Lance laughs, glancing in the rearview mirror, “she wasn’t going to this dance with anyone, and last-second said she was sad about it, so I asked her out, and we’ve been together ever since!”

Shiro can’t help but smile about that. He would have liked to be around to see Katie with her first crush, or to give Lance the shovel talk. Not that he’d need it. Shiro’s known Lance for all of fifteen minutes and he already knows he likes him. There’s a reason Katie said yes, and Matt’s right: it’s because Lance is a good person.

He’d been clearly awestruck by Shiro in a way that made Shiro incredibly uncomfortable. But there hadn’t been time to dwell on that. Shiro helped Ulaz out of the trolley, and Lance gawked and went through the same awe and delight response that Shiro had gone through the first time he’d realized he was looking at a real alien.

“Shasss,” Ulaz rumbles.

“Close!” Lance encourages, “it’s Lll-ahn-sss.”

They’d gotten into Lance’s vehicle with no issue. Shiro and Ulaz stayed low in the backseat while Lance signed out of the yard— Katie will be hacking and hiding the data once they’re gone— and then they were out. They did it.

“Rahnss,” Ulaz says.

Lance laughs, almost a giggle of delight, “Ulaz! Buddy, you almost got it!”

“Lance,” Shiro repeats for Ulaz.

“Lahnss,” Ulaz tries again.

Lance sits up straight, glancing in his mirror again and struggling to keep his eyes on the road, “was that? Yeah! That was it!”

“Lance,” Shiro says again, encouraging.

“Lance!” Ulaz repeats.

“Ulaz!” Lance shouts, and follows with a victory cheer.

“The road!” Shiro cautions him, “eyes down!”

“Sorry!” Lance says, adjusting their trajectory.

“Lance,” Ulaz declares, and then turns to Shiro, “Shiro.”

“Ulaz,” Shiro says with a smile.

He’s ready for it when Ulaz nudges their heads together. He wonders what the significance of this action is, to Ulaz. If it’s friendly, a thanks, if it’s like a handshake? Lance hits a bump, and it knocks Ulaz onto Shiro so their noses get squished together.

Ulaz sits back, ears twitching like small wings. His eyes are wide.

“Shiro,” he says softly.

“Holy shit!” Lance shouts, “I’m sorry— I’m not a— but are you? And the alien?”

Shiro recalls what Matt said about Sam thinking he’d been kissing Ulaz too.

“No,” he assures Lance quickly. Maybe too quickly. He sounds a little stressed to his own ears. Ulaz tilts his head, understanding the word but not the context, “we’re friends. He’s been in captivity, I wouldn’t take advantage—”

“Dude, I kiss Hunk all the time,” Lance says, “and Matt, once. Don’t sweat it, it’s what friends do.”

Shiro recognizes the topic change, to something lighter. He’s relieved. He decides not to pick up the conversation and settles in against the back of the passenger seat. His whole body aches, and he’s exhausted. He and Ulaz were sitting near the front now, behind the seats, so Ulaz could poke his head up to look out at the world. Ulaz follows him down, and crawls into Shiro’s lap just like the first night Ulaz had helped him through a panic attack.

“Ulaz,” Shiro greets.

Ulaz wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist, and tucks his head under Shiro’s chin, letting Shiro hold him with his good arm. Ulaz reaches out to stroke his fingers along Shiro’s right arm, feeling the point where flesh met prosthetic.

“Shiro,” Ulaz mumbles.

Shiro’s not sure what emotions to read into that.

They pass the rest of the drive in a comfortable silence.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here!
> 
> Warnings for: non-sexual nudity

It’s pouring rain when Lance pulls to a stop. He opens the back doors for Ulaz and Shiro to jump out. They don’t have time for pleasantries, but Lance gives Shiro something of a salute and wishes him luck before handing over the room key. Lance flinches, but holds himself steady when Ulaz leans into his space to bop their foreheads together.

Shiro’s thankful for the rain— its almost impossible to make out anything at a distance, including his and Ulaz’s appearances— but it also means he’s soaked in seconds. He cradles his dead right arm in his left, and leads Ulaz to their room.

The bedside lamp is on when Shiro opens the door to the motel room. Despite Katie and Keith’s assurances that the motel has no kind of security system, Shiro still had Ulaz wear a towel over his head. Ulaz is at least seven feet tall, and wearing only another towel around his waist, but hopefully in the dark and the rain it makes him less noticeable.

Lance is set to circle back to a rendezvous nearby should Shiro and Ulaz need to get to the other safe room that Katie secured for them on the other side of town. Shiro still can’t believe a stranger is doing this for him. So far everything looks good.

Shiro ushers Ulaz inside quickly, and closes the door behind them. He locks it and lets out a weary sigh. They’re here. 

It’s just him and Ulaz now. Alone. No chains, no safety lines. The weight of what he’s done, of what _they_ _’ve_ done, hits him for the first time. Shiro wants to lay down for a week.

The room is small. Everything’s cheap and dated to the last decade. Two beds, one bathroom that at least has a shower-tub combo, no closet but instead a wide dresser with a very old television sitting on top.

Just as planned there’s two duffel bags on one of the beds. Shiro doesn’t have his phone on him. He’d destroyed it before heading to work. He moves over to check the bags— everything’s there. His handgun. Clothes for him, and clothes that used to fit Shiro, that he hopes will fit Ulaz. And the new burner phone that Keith was sent to buy for him today.

Shiro flips it open. It’s a little tricky with one hand. He sends a quick text, confirmation, that they made it.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says, and Shiro turns back to him. He’s looking around the room. Confused? Curious?

Ulaz reaches out to touch the bed, feels the fabric of the blanket.

“Ulaz yes?” he asks.

“Ulaz yes,” Shiro nods, and pats the duffel with clothes for him, “Ulaz yes.”

Ulaz comes to investigate the duffel, and pulls out a shirt. He brings it to his face to sniff curiously.

Shiro picks at his own shirt, to try and tell Ulaz it’s the same thing, “For you.”

“Ulaz?” Ulaz asks warily, and he holds the shirt up against himself to test the size of it.

Shiro nods, “Ulaz.”

Ulaz makes a choking noise, and for a moment Shiro thinks something horrible is about to happen. Then Ulaz drops to his knees and presses his face into the shirt as he sobs.

These are the first real clothes he’s had in months.

Shiro slides off the best to join him. It’s hard. All of his muscles ache. His shoulder hurts from holding the dead weight of his prosthetic. He practically falls beside Ulaz, and the alien reaches for him to pull in close. They’re both soaking wet.

Shiro just betrayed everything he ever believed in. All he has is what’s in this very room. This is his worst nightmare: losing the Garrison, losing his meager life and becoming someone to be ashamed of.

Shiro doesn’t feel shame, but there’s a sense of loss. He doesn’t regret this. Even still, tears well up in his eyes. He can never go back. There will never be a place for him at the Garrison, and even though Shiro never _wants_ to go back, a part of him mourns the death of his lifelong dream.

Ulaz shakes, crying in relief. He must be realizing that he’s safe now, that he won’t be going back to the Garrison either.

“Look at us,” Shiro tries to laugh, “two grown men crying over a shirt.”

“Thank you,” Ulaz whispers, voice cracking, “thank you Shiro, thank you.”

Shiro moves his head to nuzzle up to Ulaz, and Ulaz turns to return the gesture. Only this time, Ulaz tilts his head so much that for a moment Shiro panics and freezes, but instead Ulaz just rubs their noses together.

“I thought you were gonna kiss me,” Shiro says. He can’t stop crying.

There’s nothing to do but wait for Hunk and Keith to pick them up. Shiro settles in, leaning into Ulaz as much as Ulaz leans into him.

 

* * *

 

Shiro’s shoulder aches— that’s a lie, his whole body aches, but his shoulder is going to get worse the longer he leaves his prosthetic on. He has to take it off to get a good look at it. It’s hard enough with one hand, and will only get harder the longer Shiro leaves it and his muscles get stiff. Not to mention he’s soaked and needs to change anyways. A shower wouldn’t be amiss.

Ulaz now smells rank, _and_ like wet dog. The smell is filling the room. A shower is actually a great idea.

Shiro stands up to pull his shirt off. And his back protests the movement. Shiro can’t lift his arm high enough to get his shirt off. Humiliating.

“Ulaz,” he calls. The alien _chirps_ at his name. He’s been inspecting the tv, and stands up when called, “help me get this off.”

It takes a few examples of Shiro pulling the shirt up before Ulaz gets the idea to grasp the hem and lift. Shiro bends his knees to get his head through the hole, and then he can tug the shirt off his right arm himself.

Ulaz’s ears come up and he seems very interested when he sees Shiro’s prosthetic.

“It’s, uh, it’s not normal,” Shiro tries to explain, “I lost it. In an accident.”

He thinks Ulaz already knew Shiro’s right arm wasn’t like the other, but this is the first time Ulaz will be seeing it up close.

Shiro shivers as Ulaz touches the compression sleeve at the end of the natural part of his arm, and then his fingers trace the scars up Shiro’s arm, and those that span across Shiro’s torso. No one has touched Shiro like this in a long time. He gets goosebumps.

“Hoverbike accident,” Shiro taps the scar on his nose, “I got this too.”

“Shiro,” Ulaz says softly.

He comes back to Shiro’s arm, and lifts it to inspect it with his eyes. While Ulaz is holding it, Shiro starts unbuckling the straps that secure it. Ulaz snaps out of his curiosity and waves Shiro’s hands aside. He takes only a moment to figure out how to work the straps, and then he’s removing Shiro’s prosthesis like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“You’ve seen something like this before,” Shiro concludes, “which means you know amputees. Which means you come from somewhere that takes care of amputees, that makes prothetics.”

It feels almost like terror, clawing at Shiro’s throat.

“You have a society with some sort of health care system,” Shiro notes.

Ulaz releases the last strap and carefully slides Shiro’s arm off of his body. It’s a relief. Ulaz returns to remove the compression sock and the rest of the gear.

Shiro’s shaking. All the signs had been there. That Ulaz was intelligent— and not like an animal, not like some feral creature or primitive species— Ulaz understood things that only a highly intelligent person would understand, would know about. Someone who came from a complete society— with health care advances and weapon development, and that all speaks to the potential of a governed system that could even be democratic.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whispers. The words choke out of him like guilty confessions, “I’m sorry it took me so long to help you. I didn’t— I didn’t want to know.”

Ulaz massages Shiro’s right arm until he notices Shiro shaking. He reaches out to touch Shiro’s face, and his eyes go wide when he feels the wetness of Shiro’s tears.

“But you’re safe now,” Shiro assures Ulaz, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

“Shiro,” Ulaz says softly.

Shiro reaches up to touch Ulaz’s hand. It’s still bloody and swollen around his wrist from where he ripped his shackle free to save Shiro.

Shiro has a headache from crying already, and it’s going to be a long night before they’re on the way to freedom. He doesn’t want to waste any more time. Shiro holds Ulaz’s hand as he draws Ulaz to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

It’s crowded with the two of them, but Shiro goes in first to turn on the water and get it to a decent temperature. The sound of it is deafening. Shiro hadn’t realized how quiet he and Ulaz were together. It’s an easy silence between them, though. He hasn’t felt this comfortable with anyone in a long time, not even Keith.

Shiro makes sure the water is hot, thinking of all the nights Ulaz spent in the cold basement.

Ulaz kneels beside him as Shiro tests the water from the faucet. He raises a wary hand and copies Shiro’s movement. Ulaz flinches away at the touch of water, and then steadies himself and lets it run over his palm.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says, and pats the side of the tub, “for you.”

Ulaz squints at him, and then frowns at the water. He pulls his hand away and shakes out the droplets.

“Don’t tell me space cats don’t like water,” Shiro laughs.

Ulaz leans back and looks at Shiro nervously. Shiro twists to reach for the towel on Ulaz’s head, and then thinks better of it. Ulaz has had so many people forcing him to do things he doesn’t want. Shiro drops his hand.

A demonstration might be better.

Shiro gets to his feet and sits on the edge of the bath. He has to strain to get his shoes undone with only one hand. Even though they’re velcro, it’s hard with how sore he is and that bending hurts. He has to get used to having just one hand again.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says softly, and then he taps at Shiro’s shoe. Shiro hesitates a moment, and then nods permission.

Ulaz takes a moment to figure out the laces and how they come apart, and then he deftly unties Shiro’s boot and goes to the other one.

“Thanks you,” Shiro says.

Ulaz’s ear’s twitch. Shiro thinks that means he’s happy.

Shiro hooks the toe of one book on the heel of the other to try and pull it off. Ulaz steps in again to grip Shiro’s calf and pull Shiro’s shoe off. He takes great care, gentle in his touch at every turn, and he sets each of Shiro’s boots carefully to the side. It’s gentle, domestic in nature, and it makes Shiro’s stomach flutter uncomfortably. Ulaz’s claws had easily dug into the skin around Zarkon’s throat. Shiro knows they’re sharp, knows Ulaz is deadly when confronted with an adversary. And here he is, helping Shiro get undressed.

Shiro debates a moment and decides that his pants are wet enough and he’s not comfortable standing in his underwear in front of Ulaz. Having his shirt off is only bearable because Shiro had to get used to being shirtless in rooms of strangers while he was getting fitted for his prosthetic.

He pulls his feet up and over the edge of the tub to put them into the water pooling at the bottom. Ulaz shuffles behind him to see. Facing this way puts Shiro’s left hand on the other side from Ulaz, so it’s harder to interact with him.

Ulaz glances between Shiro’s feet and then up at Shiro, before he stands and cautiously mimics Shiro’s pose. He hesitates a moment when his toes touch the water, before he puts his foot in. His knee nudges up against Shiro’s as Ulaz sits down.

Ulaz wiggles his toes. Already some dirt is coming off of Ulaz’s feet.

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks quietly.

Shiro can think of so many things he might be asking, and all the things Shiro wants to tell him but can’t.

“Ready for the shower?” Shiro asks. He points at the water coming from the faucet, and then up to the showerhead to try and mime the water coming out of there.

Ulaz furrows his bushy brows as he thinks. He nods, finally.

Shiro decides to just go for it, and pulls the switch for the shower function. The water sprays out, soaking their knees with cold water.

Ulaz yells in surprise and falls backwards, scrambling across the floor in a panic and flees to the bedroom.

“Ulaz!” Shiro calls, and almost laughs, “Ulaz it’s okay.”

Ulaz’s gaunt face pokes back into the bathroom, “Shiroooo,” he whines.

Shiro pushes himself up carefully, stepping into the spray of the shower now that it’s warm, “It’s okay, just come on,” he says, “Ulaz, come here.”

“Ulaz _no_ ,” Ulaz declares.

“Ulaz _yes_ ,” Shiro challenges.

Shiro mimes washing himself off, and ducks his head into the water to wet his hair. The shower is pretty short. Maybe a bath is a better idea, considering that Ulaz is even taller than Shiro.

When he looks up, Ulaz is crouched beside the tub.

“Hey,” Shiro says, a little surprised. He hadn’t even heard Ulaz move. Shiro holds out his hand.

Ulaz flinches from the water droplets.

“Come on,” Shiro insists.

Ulaz’s ears are pressed back against his head. He’s not happy about this.

To Shiro’s surprise, Ulaz lifts his hand and sets his palm gently in Shiro’s. His hand is almost twice the size of Shiro’s, but Ulaz still lets Shiro pull him up until Ulaz is standing, and then Ulaz cautiously steps into the tub.

“Yes!” Shiro says with a smile.

Ulaz is doing his best to make himself small enough to fit behind Shiro, to avoid getting wet.

Shiro pulls Ulaz’s hand in front of him. It’s the one with his injured wrist, and Shiro pulls it into the spray to clean it. Ulaz flinches at first, and then tries to peek over Shiro’s shoulder but gets a face full of water instead. He splutters, jerking back, and loses his balance in the slippery tub and crashes down. Unfortunately, with his long legs, Ulaz takes out Shiro’s stance and Shiro falls right on top of him.

 

* * *

 

It’s a miracle that Shiro even kept Ulaz in the tub following the fall. The alien had panicked, trying to escape, even while Shiro tried to keep him in from his spot straddling Ulaz. Ulaz relented, going limp with a pitiful moan.

Shiro quickly grabs the shampoo and pours some onto Ulaz’s chest. Ulaz looks down nervously.

“Shiro?”

“Like this,” Shiro explains, and starts massaging the soap in. Ulaz flinches at a few touches— Shiro reminds himself to be careful of bruises and old injuries— but slowly Ulaz’s ears come up as he gets interested.

If someone had told Shiro, even a few days ago, that he’d be sitting in an alien’s lap while soaping him up, Shiro might have thought that was a really funny joke. He and Matt probably traded jokes like this in the lead up to the launch.

Shiro has his back to the spray, and Ulaz continues to use Shiro like a shield. His hands are locked tight on Shiro’s waist. The irony of the position doesn’t escape Shiro, and he’s reminded of the times he thought about kissing Ulaz, or even when Rolo propositioned him.

“Can I get your hair?” Shiro asks.

Shiro reaches out slowly, and Ulaz doesn’t stop him, so Shiro starts massaging some shampoo into the crest of hair on Ulaz’s head. He’s mindful to avoid touching any lower, to stay away from behind Ulaz’s ears. It’s awkward washing someone else, let alone with just one hand.

Ulaz pulls one hand off of Shiro’s hip and Shiro pauses. Did he do something wrong?

Ulaz scrapes some of the suds off of his chest and sniffs at the bubbles. He wrinkles his nose and reaches forwards to smear the bubbles across Shiro’s stomach. Shiro bites his lip as he smiles. Ulaz has a intense expression, he’s completely focused on returning the favor for Shiro. Shiro holds himself still as Ulaz soaps him up. Ulaz is gentle, and takes care to be soft around the red marks on Shiro’s skin from the fight with Zarkon earlier. He’s always been so gentle with Shiro. He runs his hands up over Shiro’s chest, and becomes interested in something. Just as Shiro’s about to ask him, Ulaz reaches up and pinches at Shiro’s nipple.

Shiro lets out an undignified squeak and pulls away, covering his chest. Ulaz pulls his hand back and his eyes are wide.

“Shiro?” Ulaz asks nervously.

Shiro’s not sure what the appropriate response is to this. He feels like his face is going red.

“This,” Shiro is thankful it’s only him and Ulaz right now as he taps his chest over his nipple, “is like yours, Ulaz,” and Shiro covers his ear with his only hand.

Ulaz frowns, so Shiro repeats the motion. Pointing from his nipple, to Ulaz’s ears, and then covers his own ear again.

Ulaz’s eyes go wide as he makes the connection and he shoves his hands into his armpits.

“Ulaz _no_ ,” Ulaz insists.

“It’s okay,” Shiro assures him, “you didn’t know.”

To prove everything is okay, Shiro reaches out to keep washing Ulaz’s hair. Ulaz leans forwards into the touch. Shiro gets his hand around the back of Ulaz’s head and guides him forwards so Shiro can get at his back.

Ulaz contorts himself to make sure he doesn’t touch Shiro’s chest with any part of his body, and rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder. He’s so kind and respectful. Shiro wishes he could tell Ulaz how much he appreciates that. How much he likes Ulaz— likes being around him, near him, with him. Even without the ability to have full conversations, Ulaz has become a close friend and someone Shiro cares about.

Washing the soap off proves to be it’s own challenge. Ulaz whines and moans like Shiro’s hurting him, and with how injured the both of them are, it’s a feat for both of them to move around to get under the spray. Shiro has to keep a hand over Ulaz’s mouth while he reminds him to be quiet, and then Ulaz groans as soon as Shiro pulls his hand away. After the second time, Shiro realizes that Ulaz is _playing_ with him, and splashes water at Ulaz in retaliation.

By the time Shiro turns off the shower there’s water all over the bathroom floor. He doesn’t envy the cleaning staff, but it couldn’t be helped. Shiro passes a towel to Ulaz, and rubs at his own hair with his own. Ulaz mimics the action.

Now Shiro has a choice. His pants are soaked, and he does need to change. Does he leave them on to get a change of clothes?

He glances at Ulaz, who has had to discard the now-soaked towel he was wearing as a makeshift skirt. Modesty doesn’t have to be a big deal with them, Shiro decides. He just spent quite a while sitting in Ulaz’s lap.

Shiro leaves the towel hanging around his neck and unbuttons his pants. They’re soaked and clinging to him, so it’s hard to peel them off.

“Shiro,” Ulaz says, and steps in to help. Just like before, with Shiro’s prosthetic and shirt. Shiro wants to tell him ‘no’, but Ulaz has mastered the art of stripping Shiro, apparently, and kneels in front of Shiro as he pulls Shiro’s pants _and_ underwear to his ankles in one movement.

Shiro covers his face in mortification. He did just decide there was no need for modesty between them.

Ulaz takes one look at Shiro’s penis, glances down between his own legs, and then looks back up at Shiro, apparently happy about something.

“Yeah, we match,” Shiro groans, “now get up.”

They both tie their towel around their waist. And now that he’s clean, that Shiro can see the colors of his fur, and all the areas where it was clumped with grease and filth, versus where it’s smooth and sleek now, he can’t believe how similar Ulaz is to a human, and just how different. There’s so many marks of Ulaz’s abuse. Shiro wonders what Ulaz will look like when he’s healthy.

Shiro leads the way back into the bedroom, with Ulaz behind him. Shiro goes to his duffel and hunts out a pair of briefs. Ulaz waits nervously for direction.

Shiro points at the duffel for Ulaz, “Ulaz.”

It doesn’t need any more saying. Ulaz goes into the bag and starts pulling out clothing.

Shiro lets him explore and gets dressed with the brief lack of Ulaz’s interest he can call privacy. When he glances up, Ulaz is studying him again, and then finds a pair of briefs. Shiro had tried to pick his nicest ones for Ulaz.

But just in case, Shiro steps over to find the discarded pair of boxers to give Ulaz options.

“Underwear,” Shiro instructs, “then pants. And a shirt.”

Now in his underwear himself, Shiro decides to demonstrate by going back to his bed to get a pair of jeans. He gets them on and pulls them up with a small hop, and points out again that underwear goes on underneath.

Ulaz debates between his choices for a moment, before going with briefs like Shiro. Shiro gave Ulaz sweatpants and shorts, because none of his other clothes were going to fit Ulaz’s long legs. Ulaz decides on sweats, and the delight on his face as he gets to put on clothes makes even Shiro smile. The pants end just under Ulaz’s knees, making him look almost like an overgrown child. The t-shirt Ulaz wears doesn’t help much. It’s from when Shiro was at his bulkiest with weight training, before he had to start slimming down for the Kerberos mission. It’s so loose on Shiro now that he doesn’t wear it because it makes him feel like he’s playing dress-up in his father’s clothes. Even still it’s tight across Ulaz’s shoulders, and the hem sits a few inches higher than the waistband of the sweats.

“Retro,” Shiro comments, and laughs at his own joke.

There’s only a few hours before Hunk and Keith will be coming to get them. Shiro never planned on sleeping much tonight, but he’d like it if Ulaz could sleep a little.

Shiro wonders if anyone’s found Zarkon yet. If the Garrison has realized that Ulaz is missing. Now is the time to be careful.

Shiro grabs his pillows and drops them onto the floor between the beds. As comfortable as they look right now, sleeping in the bed is too open for his liking.

“Shiro and Ulaz,” he explains, “sleep here. Then go in the morning.”

He mimes as best he can. Ulaz tilts his head from side to side, ears twitching.

Shiro sets his duffel on the ground so he can strip the blanket from his bed and puts it down at his feet. Ulaz makes an excited noise and copies the action. He starts setting the pillows specifically, and tugging the blankets into place in a way that makes Shiro think he’s trying to make something familiar to him.

Shiro lets Ulaz make their bed and he picks up his duffel again. Now is the time for the long watch. They aren’t safe until they’re out of town.

Shiro pulls out his handgun. It’s been sitting in his sock drawer for years. He’d gotten it when he was younger, just because he _could_ , and had carried it from home to home. In the last year he’d made a habit of looking down the muzzle when the days and nights started blending together. Now, for an entirely different reason, he’s grateful to have it.

He sets the gun on the bed and digs out a case of bullets. It’s hard loading with his one hand, but he manages.

Ulaz shuffles over to see what Shiro’s doing, and Shiro can _feel_ him go still. Shiro wonders if Ulaz knows what this is.

“Ulaz,” Shiro says seriously, and holds up the gun for him to see, “ _gun_ ,” he emphasizes, “Ulaz no.”

Ulaz presses his ears back against his head, and then lunges at Shiro. He snatches the gun out of Shiro’s hand and inspects it closely.

“Ulaz no,” Shiro insists. He needs Ulaz to realize it’s dangerous, to have an idea to run away from guns.

Ulaz stands up as he turns it over in his hands. Shiro didn’t take the safety off, so it’s relatively safe, but it’s still a loaded gun.

Ulaz holds the gun out in his hands, finger curled around the trigger, and points it at the door.

“Ulaz yes,” he declares, and looks at Shiro, “Shiro, yes.”

Ulaz knows exactly what a gun is.

Shiro stands up slowly, and moves to stand beside Ulaz. He reaches out to point at the safety, and mimes releasing it.

“Gun,” Shiro says again, forms his fingers into the shape of a gun and pretends to shoot, “blam.”

“Gun,” Ulaz agrees. He mimes the same movement that Shiro did, memorizing how to release the safety to fire the weapon. And then, he changes his grip and offers it to Shiro, handle-first. Like someone familiar with a gun would do.

“Your people have weapons,” Shiro deduces, “or at least you’re familiar with them.”

Shiro takes it back. Ulaz is looking right at him.

“You could have killed me and run,” Shiro notes, “with this, or with your claws. You’re free now.”

Ulaz cocks his head as he listens to Shiro speak, “Shiro?”

Shiro sets the gun on the bedside table. Both of them have access to it. He hopes the message is clear: he’s here to help Ulaz, and he trusts Ulaz with his life.

 

* * *

 

Ulaz made them a nest of sorts. Their duffels get dragged into the construction, though they’re easily accessible. Shiro sits up against one bed so he can watch the door, and Ulaz curls around him. This time, though, he’s made sure he’s tucking himself under Shiro’s right arm so that Shiro’s left is free.

Little things that speak volumes. Ulaz is smart enough to know Shiro needs his arm to fire the gun, should anyone come after them. He must also know they’re hiding and on the run. And he has no way of asking what the plan is, of what’s coming next. All he can do is trust Shiro.

It’s a lot of responsibility.

Ulaz can’t seem to find a comfortable way to sleep against Shiro, and moves every couple of minutes until he’s even annoying Shiro. That is, until Shiro realizes that Ulaz is carefully avoiding touching Shiro’s chest. Shiro guides Ulaz to lay down against him like they’ve down before, with Ulaz’s face tucked against Shiro’s throat, and Ulaz practically curled up in Shiro’s lap. Ulaz lets out a long sigh of relief.

He smells a lot better now. And while he’s still damp, his fur is soft. It’s nice to be this close to him, and some tension unwinds a little bit from Shiro. No matter what happens, Ulaz got to be cleaned and clothed.

Ulaz falls asleep almost instantly, or Shiro assumes he does, because he’s quiet for a stretch of time when he suddenly growls.

Shiro’s on alert in an instant, startling Ulaz awake. Ulaz pouts and mumbles an angry, “Shiro?”

Shiro waits, and doesn’t head anything. Ulaz settles in against him, sighing happily, and then makes the sound again.

Oh.

“Are you…” Shiro can’t believe he’s about to say this, “are you _purring_?”

The purring stops as Ulaz blinks his eyes open, “Shiro?”

Shiro shakes his head, “It’s okay.”

Ulaz waits a moment, and then settles in again. The purring resumes.

 

* * *

 

Shiro stands guard all night. He notices when Ulaz finally falls asleep because the purring stops, and then Ulaz snores softly. He wonders how long it’s been since Ulaz had a good sleep, a _nice_ sleep, even. Where he didn’t have to wake up to being in captivity or pain. Shiro doesn’t want to wake him, and stays as still as he can.

‘ _What kind of man are you_?’ Zarkon had asked of him.

Shiro looks down at Ulaz, sprawled against him. Trusting, gentle, and as intelligent as anyone Shiro’s ever met. Zarkon thought Shiro was a traitor, a broken man. Someone lost, to be pitied and left behind.

Shiro thinks that isn’t the case at all. Not anymore.

His burner phone gets a text ten minutes before it’s time to meet. Ulaz snaps awake at the noise, groggy but tense. Even though he can’t read anything, Shiro shows Ulaz the phone, and lets Ulaz watch as Shiro responds.

They pack quickly. It’s starting to get light as the sun rises, and they’ll lose the cover of darkness to keep Ulaz hidden. They pack up everything that belongs to them, including the wet clothes and the towel from the Garrison, and Shiro’s useless prosthetic. They’ll have to dispose of it all properly sometime later.

Keith and Hunk arrive on time, and Shiro and Ulaz make the dash from the motel to the van. Both Keith and Hunk are wide-eyed and in awe at the sight of Ulaz. Keith has to nudge Hunk to get moving.

It’s a small van that Hunk has. Normally it would have three rows of seats, but all the back rows have been taken out to make room for all the flowers that Hunk is taking with him. It smells wonderful. Ulaz gets distracted sniffing around while Shiro accepts a coffee from Keith.

They don’t talk much as Hunk turns to get on the highway, and they all hold their breath as they leave the city limits. The Garrison has to know Ulaz is missing by now. They’ll be putting out a hunt for whoever was involved, and as soon as Zarkon wakes up, they’ll know it was Shiro.

Once they’re out of the city it feels like a veil is lifted. Hunk and Keith introduce themselves to Ulaz, and Ulaz learns their names. Ulaz is very curious about Keith being non-verbal, and Keith takes a little time to show Ulaz how to sign his name. To their surprise, Ulaz picks up on it quickly.

Shiro fills Keith and Hunk in on what happened— how he had to fight Zarkon, and how Ulaz saved his life. He skips some of the parts about him and Ulaz cuddling, or most of the bath together.

Shiro runs out of things to talk about pretty quickly. The road keeps going, and he hasn’t slept in days.

Keith tells him to sleep, and Shiro finally settles in, sprawled out and using his duffel as a pillow. It’s very uncomfortable, but he is tired. Ulaz seems content with what Hunk and Keith are up to, and leaves them be to come join Shiro. Ulaz shakes Shiro awake and coaxes him to sit up so Ulaz can pull Shiro into his lap, just like Ulaz slept against Shiro earlier.

Shiro can read into the action pretty well: Ulaz will take watch now. Shiro can rest.

Shiro glances up at Hunk and Keith. He can see from the angle of Hunk and Keith’s shoulders that they’re holding hands. They’ll stay out of town for a few days, and hopefully no one will know they had anything to do with Shiro.

The Garrison will look for Keith. It was no secret that he and Shiro were close friends. But Keith can claim he hasn’t seen Shiro since the landing, since he’s been staying at Hunk’s more often than not. It should be an alibi solid enough to stand. Shiro doesn’t want to consider an alternative.

Shiro sees Hunk glance at them in the rearview mirror, Hunk’s eyes go wide, and then a moment later Keith is glancing back to look at him. They’re probably still nervous about Ulaz being so close to Shiro. Shiro smiles and gives Keith a short wave. He’s fine, Ulaz isn’t hurting him. Keith turns back to Hunk and leans over so he can sign something at Hunk. Shiro doesn’t catch the conversation, but his eyes are too heavy to keep open long enough to find out more.

Shiro is just thankful that Keith has someone that cares about him enough to get involved in something like this. Shiro’s leaving them with a lot of trouble on the horizon, but Keith has someone who Shiro trusts to take care of him. And maybe, hopefully, to love him.

Ulaz pets Shiro’s hair, just like Shiro does to him, and whispers a gentle, “Shh.”

Shiro smiles at that. He could fight it, but he’s _exhausted_ , and there’s a ways to go before the planned drop-off location. He breathes slowly, taking in the sweet scent of the flowers and the familiar smell of Ulaz. And in the arms of an alien, rocked gently by the motion of the car, Shiro falls into an exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Part 1
> 
> [Part 2 Will Be Announced Soon]


End file.
